


Finding Normal

by B_does_the_write_thing



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rumbelle Christmas in July
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 04:25:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4421258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_does_the_write_thing/pseuds/B_does_the_write_thing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the quest to cope after her mother's death, Belle plans a trip aboard to Scotland on an adventure where she loses everything only to gain the one thing that ever truly mattered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elizadunc](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=elizadunc).



> For the dear elizadunc, a very merry christmas in July.  
> Prompt: Suitcase, tears, joy, Scotland, castle

The problem with Belle was simple.

She never looked before she leaped, rarely thought before she acted and always thought she was in the right.

Which was why, one early October morning found her on her way to the Boston airport. With her passport clutched tight in one hand and the other anxiously tapping scan on the car’s ancient radio, Belle tried to remember why she had thought this was be a good idea.

As she fiddled, sometimes going back to listen to one song before growing anxious and searching ahead, a beleaguered sigh emanated from the driver seat followed by an exasperated but fond, “Belle…”

“Sorry,” she apologized, as she drew her hand back to her lap. She shrugged her shoulders helplessly as they passed another sign advertising the airport. “I’m just a little wound up.”

“Could be the four cups of coffee you’ve had.”

Belle shot a jittery smile at her father. He had lines around his eyes from the long drive, but he had insisted on being the one to take her into the city. “Or maybe you’re thinking better of this stunt of yours?”

“Papa,” Belle pulled her legs up onto the old bucket seat as she toyed with the air conditioner vents. “We’ve been over this…”

“I know, I know,” he sighed as he glanced into the rearview mirror. “But I still don’t understand why you couldn’t take one of your friends with you.”

“They all have a lot going on,” Belle responded uneasily. She saw her father shot her a glance out of the corner of his eye but he refrained from commenting further. “Besides,” she added. “This is something I need to do alone.”

“So, you said,” he replied resignedly. “But I hope you know what’re you doing.”

Belle squirmed in her seat, flicking open her cell phone as she avoided her own thoughts on the matter. No new messages had come through this morning, which meant no one had woken up yet. The last text message from Ruby still sat at the top of her messages.

**I’ll miss you. Find a hot European to bring back for me.**

She snapped the cell phone off, tucking it in her carry on as the telltale lights of the airport swam into focus in the distance. “What gate?” He asked gruffly, eyes locked straight ahead as the airport came into view.

Fumbling for her ticket, Belle found the departure gate and read, “Aer Lingus.”

After a few more minutes of driving in stony silence, her father found the gate, pulling over and putting on the flashers. Nonetheless, he remained seated in the car, looking straight ahead as Belle stared nervously down at her lap, her stomach torn between nervous excitement and sheer panic at the journey ahead.

His voice low, he finally spoke. “Just promise me you’ll be safe”

Touched, Belle reached out to take his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers as she squeezed it gently. “I’ll be fine, Papa,” she reassured him lovingly. “Thank you for understanding that this is important to me.”

He nodded, eyes flicking to hers in the fluorescent overhead lighting of the over hanging of Logan Airport. “Your Mama was so proud of you,” he told her gruffly. Belle felt the familiar prickle of tears at the mention of her mother and nodded roughly in return. “Well, let’s get you on your way.” Her father dropped her hand as he reached to undo his seatbelt. Belle hurried to follow suit.

They made quick work of collecting her oversized suitcase from the trunk, her father handing her the handle before wrapping her in one of his signature bear hugs. “I love you, my beauty,” he whispered into her hair. “Call me when you can.”

“Papa,” Belle laughed even as she squeezed him tighter. “Remember, I won’t have cell service. I’ll email you whenever I can find Internet.”

He nodded, releasing her with a cough. “Call me before you board,” he instructed her. “You have your passport?”

“And my carry on,” Belle held up the small tote back that had her wallet, laptop and at least five books crammed in it. A few were peeking out of the top and her father smiled as he glanced at it.

“You packed _Her Handsome Hero_? You’ve read it twice.”

“More than that,” Belle admitted sheepishly. “But it was Mama’s favorite.”

“I know.” In the dawn light, Moe French looked every inch his sixty plus years of age as he stared down at her in sadness. “You’re more and more like her every day.”

“I miss her,” Belle told him, hoisting the bag on her shoulder. “I miss her so much, Papa.”

“Me too, Belle,” he responded, voice cracking slightly as emotion colored his tone. “Me too.”

With one last hug, they said their final goodbyes before Belle turned to head into the massive complex. She caught the reflection of her father, standing by the car forlornly before the glass doors hissed open as she stepped into the heated building.

Resisting the urge to look back, she wheeled her cumbersome suitcase towards the check in. There were a few people in the line, but with still three hours before the flight, it wasn’t crowded. Belle shuffled into line, fishing out her cell phone in the interim.

Pressing the button to bring the screen to life, Belle began typing a good morning message to Mary Margret, smiling when she realized she would probably already be awake. With their newborn son barely three months old, neither Mary Margret nor her husband David were getting much sleep these days.

Just as she pressed send, someone slammed into her. Staggering to stay upright, Belle’s phone plummeted to the ground as she reached out blindly.

A hand quickly grasped her elbow, keeping her from falling over. “Sorry, love!” Came a heavily accented English accent.“ ‘Fraid I wasn’t paying attention!”

Discombobulated, Belle looked up to scold him. Instead, she found a rather arresting man staring down at her in earnest concern. His large almond shaped brown eyes were hooded in worry as he frowned down. “Didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No,” Belle shook her head. Her hand came up to where his was still resting on her arm. “I’m fine, just got the air knocked out of me.”

“Awfully sorry about that,” the stranger said earnestly. “I’m dead on my feet and must have been sleep walking.”

Belle hoisted her carry on back on her shoulder as she smiled forgivingly at him. “It’s okay, I’m half asleep myself.”

“Still,” he released her as he stepped back. His hand came up to the ruffle the hair at the back of his head. His close-cropped brown hair did little to hide his rather large ears but his warm smile quickly drew her attention back to his face. “Mind if I buy you a coffee?” He asked her with a self-effacing smirk. “Make up for my error?”

“You don’t have to do that,” Belle hedged, fingers toying idly with her carry on strap. “I’m planning on trying to get some sleep on the flight to Glasgow.”

“That flight that just got delayed, you mean?”

“What?” Belle bleated, swinging her head to the check in counter where another passenger was heatedly gesturing to the overhead flight arrival times. Sure enough, there was a large red DELAYED beside her flight number. “Oh, no,” she cried in dismay as she quickly fumbled to pull up the Logan Airport app she had downloaded last night. “I’m going to miss my connection!”

“Dublin?” The Englishman asked. “They got planes to Glasgow all the time,” he reassured her. “Don’t’ you worry none, love.”

Belle lowered her phone, slow to connect in the busy airport with a defeated sigh. “What am I going to do all day?”

“You could always agree to have breakfast with me,” he replied quickly. Belle turned, apprehensive about the attention the stranger was paying her when her eyes fell on the object clutched in his left hand.

“Is that _Alice in Wonderland_?” Belle asked, eyes lighting up as she took in the familiar white rabbit peeking out from the man’s fingers.

“Oh, this?” He cleared his throat. “Yea, well, just something to pass the time.”

“I love _Alice in Wonderland,_ ” Belle shared happily. “Not a lot of men have read it.”

“Is that a fact?” He teased, moving the book behind his back. “Well, pretend you didn’t see it then.”

“No, I find it endearing,” Belle confessed, coloring slightly as he smiled back at her. The line moved slightly as the last customer stormed away from the counter, still fuming. Belle reached out for her suitcase, only to find the stranger had already taken the handle. He offered a small, polite smile, raising an eyebrow silently asking for her permission.

Torn between his appealing nature and the fact that she knew nothing about him other than he was an Englishman who read Caroll, Belle glanced over her shoulder before back at him. “I’m Belle,” she finally decided, sticking out her hand to him.

He grinned at her, releasing her suitcase after he pushed it to join her a few feet up from their previous position. He took her smaller hand in his and shook it firmly. “Will. Will Scarlet,” he introduced himself. “At your service.”

Belle giggled, tucking her hair behind her ear. Will’s eyes never left her face, her hand still firmly enclosed in his own. Belle let her arm fall and he let it slide out of his grip. Clearing her throat, she asked him, “Are you at all familiar with Logan Airport?”

“First time in Boston,” he replied. “But I think I can find us somewhere to have a long breakfast.”

As the phone in her hand buzzed, indicating someone back in Storybrooke had woken up, Belle found herself rather pleased at this promising start of her adventure.

-

“Well, it’s all settled,” Will plopped down in the small plastic seat beside her. Belle glanced up from her book as he made himself comfortable. Draping one arm around the back of her chair, he spread his legs out and winked at the older woman staring at them from across the aisle. The voyeur gave them a haughty sniff and returned to her knitting. “I got my seat changed to the open one next to you.”

“I can’t believe they did that,” Belle said in disbelief. “It’s a window seat!”

“You can have the window seat,” Will assured her. “I’m fine with the aisle.”

“Still,” Belle shook her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

All day, Will had been full of surprises. Before Stephanie’s Restaurant had even opened, he had sweet-talked the manager into letting them into getting a table.

Two hours later, the wait staff was all on first name terms with the outgoing Englishman, dropping off free mimosas on their way to other tables. They had kept up conversation easily. Bell regaled him with stories of her small town upbringing and her early childhood in Australia while he told of her growing up poor on the streets of London.

Only after they were both sufficiently tipsy had they left the restaurant. Only to go straight into the Harpoon Tap Room where Will had greeted the initially confused manager like an old friend. They had continued their drinking there, sampling beers with other travelers while exchanging views on classic literature.

Will, Belle was delighted to discover, had a soft spot for English literature and was a keen reader of classics such as the Once and Future King, Peter Pan and even Winnie the Pooh.

Less than two hours later and after a free lunch courtesy of an older gentleman who had been rather intrigued by Will’s forearms, Belle had dragged Will to their terminal to await their flight. Only to find it had been delayed again. It was not scheduled to depart Logan Airport until six that evening.

Will had barely batted an eyelash. Within ten minutes, they were admitted to the business lounge. Refusing another drink, Belle had fallen asleep on a large plush couch, clutching her carry on to her chest protectively.

A well-timed text from Ruby (demanding to know who the handsome stranger in her Instagram picture was) had startled Belle awake at half past four. Grabbing Will from the circle of business wives who had him firmly entrenched in their midst, Belle hurried back towards their terminal.

Will carried his drunkenness like a true Englishman, If not for the odor emanating from his breath, one Belle was sure her own breath rivaled, she would never have been able to tell he had spent the past nine hours drinking.

“I told you, stick with me,” Will reminded her with a lazy grin. “You’re a real gem, Belle.” He gave her a meaningful look over the small chair divider. Their earlier flirtations over cocktails and their more drunken innuendos aside, Belle felt herself color slightly. “It’s a shame I’m disembarking in Dublin.”

“Yea,” Belle murmured as she glanced away in uncertain embarrassment. Will had been a welcome distraction this past few hours but she was already growing rather exhausted in the face of his endless energy. “But we’ll always have Boston.”

He grinned at her as they announced the beginning of the bordering call. “Six hours of just you and me and the sky,” he said, crossing his legs in the typical male fashion. “Wonder what we might get up to.”

Belle swatted at him with the book, “You’ll be passed out before we even reach cruising altitude. Besides,” she shot him a teasing look.” I’m not that kind of girl.”

“No kidding,” he responded earnestly and the growingly familiar half smile appeared on his face. “You’re one of a kind. I think I’m going to miss you.”

“Bet you say that to all the girls,” Belle answered blithely.

“Just the ones I really like.”

Belle didn’t respond to that. But when he took her hand in his own when they announced their section, Belle didn’t pull away.

\--  
Stifling another yawn, Belle twisted her head on her pillow to look over at Will. He was reclined slightly, having already secured the good will of the person behind him and was sleeping soundly just as she had predicted.

“Miss?” The stewardess rolled the cart up, careful to avoid the young man’s limbs. “Does your boyfriend want anything to drink?”

Belle opened her mouth to tell the woman he wasn’t her boyfriend but thought better of it as another yawn threatened to crack her jaw. “No,” she said politely. “I think we’re fine.”

“All right,” the woman smiled at her. “Just let me know if you need anything, my name is Reul.”

“That’s a rather unusual name,” Belle commented before she could think better of it. She colored slightly, offering a wry smile. “Sorry, I’ve just never heard that before.”

“It means blue in Scots Gaelic,” Reul explained ruefully. “I was born under a blue star and my parents were a bit literal when they named me.”

“I’m Belle,” she shared. “My parents had high hopes for me.” Reul giggled and Belle smiled back. “Do you live in Glasgow?” Belle asked, waving her hand as she realized she was falling back on one of her worst habits. “Sorry, sorry, I can’t help myself some time, I just love learning new things.”

“Grew up in the Outer Hebrides,” Reul whispered back. Most of the cabin was falling asleep, most having arrived like Belle and Will earlier that morning only to find the plane delayed. “But when my parents split, Mom and I moved to Glasgow. Is it your first time in Scotland?”

Belle nodded, putting down her book as she found herself warming to the conversation. “I grew up in Australia and when we moved to Maine, we spent a few weeks in London,” she told the other woman. “But my mother always wanted to go to the Mitchell Library.”

“It’s wonderful,” Reul commiserated. “You’ll have to take plenty of pictures for her.”

Belle stilled, feeling the familiar ache in her chest as she thought of her mother, the beautiful but cold stranger who had laid in the casket a few months ago so at odds with the warm loving historian who had been loud and vibrant as a Pollock painting.

“She passed,” Belle found herself saying softly. “A few months ago.”

“Oh, dear,” the stewardess looked crestfallen, her hand fluttering to her mouth before dropping away as she glanced around. “I am truly sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks,” Belle croaked, giving her a wan smile. “If you don’t mind, perhaps I’ll have a glass of wine after all.”

“Sure,” Reul said, quickly reaching for the bottle at the bottom of the cart. “Red or White?’

“White,” Belle told her. “And a water, please?”

“Here you are,” Reul handed the drinks over the sleeping form of Will, who murmured and jerked a bit before falling back into his drunken slumber. “Better get some sleep. We get to Dublin in about six hours and then we have ninety minutes to refuel before we take off again.”

“How long from Dublin to Glasgow?” Belle asked, raising her hand to catch another yawn. She took a drink from her wine glass as the passenger across the aisle asked Reul for a beverage. Reul quickly handed the requested beverage over, shaking her head as Belle tried to hand her some cash

“My condolences for your loss,” she told her. “And the flight over isn’t bad, probably just shy of two hours. But we’ll arrive around eight in the morning. If you get sleep, you can catch Mitchell Library just as it opens. “

She said her goodbyes, promising to stop by later to check on them. Belle pulled the blanket round her tighter, checking with her foot to make sure her carry on bag was secured before she finished her wine. She left her bottle of water, tucking it into the seat back as she put up the tray. With one last glance at Will, his mouth hanging open as he dreamed, Belle closed her eyes as she looked out into the cloudy sky.

Her last conscious thoughts before her dreams took her were of her mother.

\--  
“Belle? Belle, are you awake?”

Cracking open one bleary eye, Belle’s vision swam before it focused on the brunette hovering over her. For a moment, Belle frowned at the woman before recognition set in.

“Reul?” She croaked, coughing a bit from the dry air of the cabin. “What’s going on?”

“I saw your boyfriend disembark,” Reul said in some concern. “I just wanted to make sure you were still headed to Glasgow before we start boarding new passengers.”

“Oh,” Belle yawned, nestling her head back into the pillow as she snuggle down deeper. “Yea, he was getting off here. I’m going to Scotland.”

“Oh,” came the confused reply but Belle fell quickly back asleep. She dimly felt a sense of disappointment that Will had not awoken her to say goodbye but they had exchanged information. Perhaps he would contact her if his trip would up taking him to Scotland after all.

Belle smiled to herself as she heard Reul walk away. Ariel would love that, she though hazily. Her younger friend had always been a romantic, perhaps when she got to Scotland she would email her about the handsome Englishman.

\--

 

Jerking awake at the sound of squealing rubber, Belle found they had landed in Glasgow. The captain’s voice droned overhead and a new companion sat in Will’s old seat, looking rather annoyed as a beverage cart pushed by a different stewardess banged into his elbow.

“You took my seat,” he accused her when he saw she was awake. “I had the window seat booked.”’

“Sorry,” Belle rasped, wiping her eyes as she struggled to open them fully. “I switched on the flight from Boston.”

“I see that,” the man huffed. “But you should have had the decency to have moved over before Dublin.”

“I’m really sorry,” Belle told him, sitting up straight as she tried to wake up fully. “You should have woken me up.”

“Some bossy stewardess told me to leave you alone,” the grumpy American replied. He had a shaved head and a full beard but he was shorter than her, legs almost dangling off the floor. “Americans,” he grumbled. “Think they own everything.”

Belle resisted the sullen urge to point out her accent was obviously Australian. He continued to grumble to himself. Reaching for her water, Belle took a long drink as the captain continued to share the current weather in Glasgow.

Flipping up the window, Belle found a beautiful autumn morning dawning on the tarmac. The workers were bundled up against the wind as they hurried around below them. Belle, remembering her promise to check for Internet, reached down to grab her phone from her carry on.

Instead, her hand found the spine of a book.

Confused, Belle pulled it out, finding _Alice in Wonderland_ peering up at her from the glossy cover. A napkin was stuck in the pages and Belle, her stomach plummeting before she even read the words, let the book fall open to the impromptu bookmark.

Stuck beside the Mad Hatter’s tea party illustration, the note in bright red ink simply read:

**I meant what I said. – WS**

“For crying out loud,” Grumpy was complaining loudly. “Get a move on already before I die in here!”

Belle barely heard him over the ringing in her ears. Her passport, phone, wallet and camera had all been in her carry on. Her favorite books, including her mother’s first edition of _Her Handsome Hero_ were gone.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, staring down at the childish handwriting before she felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to find Reul staring down at her in concern.

“He took my bag,” Belle said numbly. Reul asked her a few more questions but she didn’t hear them.

All she could remember was Will’s smile when she had reminded him of Robin Hood’s band of outlaws. About the fine young dandy, who had shared Will’s love of clothes, drink, and women as well as his name. Will had just smiled his Cheshire cat grin and had raised his glass to his namesake.

Of course, it hadn’t been his real name.

Hadn’t Mrs. Lucas warned her about the kind of people who preyed on unsuspecting travelers? She had known to be careful in Glasgow but she had never though to guard against pickpockets and thieves in Boston.

Reul returned, bringing the captain with her. After a few questions, he disappeared as Reul sat down next to her, holding her hand as Belle cried.

At some point, another man appeared. He was tall and thin, a bearded young man who was wearing plain clothes including a pair of ridiculously tight skinny jeans and expensive boots.

“Miss French?” He asked her gently in a lilting Irish accent. Reul stood, moving out of his way to hover beside him in the aisle. He nodded his thanks at her, moving to take her abandoned seat. “Belle?”

“I’m such an idiot,” Belle hiccupped, dashing away the tears from her eyes. “I trusted him!”

“It’s all right,” the newcomer comforted her gently. “I’m Graham, I work for the Póilíní an t-Aerfoirt.”

“The Irish Airport Police,” Reul translated. Graham nodded. “I’m here on holiday,” he continued gently. “So, I don’t have much official authority but it’s going to be okay. Did he get your phone?”

Belle nodded through her tears, clutching harder at the book in her lap.

Graham nodded along with her. “Ok, well we can help get you to a phone. I know a few mates here that should be able to help you get in contact with your banks to cancel your cards.”

“Ok,” Belle said shakily. “Thank you. I’m sorry, I’m just-“

“No need to apologize,” Graham said stridently. “We need to file a police report and then get you to the US embassy to replace your passport.”

“I don’t have any other identification,” Belle said shakily, pushing her hair out of her face.

“Are you traveling alone?” At her nod, he sighed. “Okay, well. It’s Saturday and the US Embassy only takes appointments on Tuesday and Wednesday. Do you have a place to stay until then?”

“They’re closed?” Belle said in some disbelief. “How can they be closed?”

“I’ll contact their passport department,” Graham said calmly over her. “And once we get a hold of your banks, we can get them to send you a credit card.”

“I don’t have a credit card,” Belle said numbly. “I have a debit card.”

Reul looked between the two of them in concern, when a shout for her from the cockpit made them all turn. “Go on,” Graham told her gently. “I’ll grab you before we leave.”

“She could stay at my place,” Reul said quickly. “But it’s under repair right now. The landlord is redoing the entire floor and I’m on rotation all this month. We fly back out in another hour.”

“It’s okay,” Graham assured her as Belle offered her a watery smile over his head. “You did the right thing grabbing me.”

Reul nodded, looking crestfallen as she walked away. Belle sniffed again, using the back of her hand to wipe her tears from her cheeks. With a deep sigh, she collected herself as she turned back to the young police officer.

“So, I have no money, no identification and no way to contact anyone,” she recapped succinctly. “You’re going to help me with the last two, but what does someone in this situation do in the meanwhile?”

Graham grimaced, eyes looking upwards as he thought. After a moment, he nodded to himself. “Do you have money in your suitcase?”

“Mostly books,” Belle confessed. At Graham’s amused smile, her shoulders fell as she rubbed the rough pages of the book still in her lap. “I read a lot.”

“Ok, here’s what we’ll do. I have a mate who works at a hotel not far from here. He’s put up some people in similar situations to your own for a night or two, let me get in touch with him and see if he can swing something for you.”

“I’d be happy to work,” Belle told him earnestly. She thought of her father back home, wondering if he was waiting for her to contact him with news of the safe arrival. The idea of telling him what had happened soured her mood even further. Graham noticed her withdraw and he placed a friendly hand on hers, covering the cover of _Alice in Wonderlan_ d with their joined hands.

“It’s going to be okay,” he told her again before removing his hand. “What do you say we get off the plane and get you something to eat? My treat.”

Belle tired to refuse but her stomach gurgled at the very idea of food, causing the serious young man to laugh. “That’s settled. Let’s go.”

Belle nodded as she stood. As they said their goodbyes, Reul hugged her, taking her information and promising to follow up once she finished her rotation. Belle stumbled off the plane, her legs numb and coltish after her long time seated. Graham said nothing, simply offered her his arm as they made their way though the terminal.

After a few hours of making calls overseas, one to her father, a cheerful message where she omitted she was stuck in Scotland penniless and with no identification, a panicked one to the Storybrooke bank, closed until Monday, and the last desperate one to the US Embassy, a voicemail drone beeping at her after less than a minute in to her message- Belle hung up for the last time to find Graham opening the door, cups in hand.

“Thank you,” Belle said gratefully, reaching up to accept the warm tea. “I don’t think my stomach could handle coffee right now.”

“Lucky for you, us Europeans like our tea,” Graham retorted. “Get everything worked out?”

“Best as I can,” Belle sighed. “I’m sure Will or whatever his name is has already drained my bank account. I didn’t have much in there to start with.”

Graham grimaced but he didn’t lie to her. “He probably did that first thing. I called some coworkers of mine. They pulled video of him up leaving the airport in an unmarked car but he didn’t spend any of your money or leave any of your things in the Dublin Airport. Probably thought you would realize it was gone before your plane left.”

“I should have checked,” Belle repeated for the hundredth time. Graham ignored this, sipping his black coffee as he checked his own cell.

“Looks like my mate’s here,” he announced. “I got your suitcase from the belt. I’ll have one of the guys take it down for us.”

Belle looked up from her cup of tea, fingers splayed around it for warmth as she looked up at him through tired eyes. “I don’t know what I would have done if you and Reul hadn’t been there,” she admitted shakily. “How can I ever repay you two?”

“Well, if I’m ever in Storybrooke, I’m taking you up on that coffee you mentioned.” Belle nodded gratefully as she took another sip of her peppermint tea. “You ready?”

As they made their way through the busy international airport, Graham took care of the main things. Belle barely lifted a hand, staggering under the time change and the sheer amount of stress looming over her as she stepped into the cloudy sky of Glasgow.

“Over here!” Called an American voice from their left. Graham waved, guiding her through the busy maze of people to stand before a slightly older man, standing beside a bright yellow beetle.

“Neal!” Graham greeted warmly. “This is Belle.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Belle held out her hand. Neal waved it away and wrapped her in an embrace. At the strange contact, Belle stiffened for a second before she relaxed, understanding the contact for what it was, a gesture of good will and comfort.

“An Aussie?” Neal exclaimed in interest. “Thought Graham said you were American.” He turned to the taller man with a sharp grin. “I would have helped regardless of her nationality,” he chided the younger officer. “Besides, you might have mentioned she was gorgeous.”

Graham colored as he coughed a bit. Belle ignored the exchange, rubbing her arms at the wind kicked up behind them. She had lost her jacket; her warmer clothes packed away in the suitcase, which she saw in the back of the car.

Neal laughed, “I’m kidding. Not about the gorgeous part, even after the day you’ve had, you’re stunning. I meant about the whole American thing. So, Graham, you going to stop by before you head back?” He asked Graham.

“I’ll call when I get her a passport appointment at the embassy,” Graham told him. “I can come pick her up-“

 

“No need,” Neal shrugged. She can take the car.”

“I don’t know how to drive,” Belle confessed, looking around at the busy road in wonder. All of the cars were on the wrong side of the road, most manual transmissions from the sound of them. “I never learned.”

“Someone can take her into town,” Neal countered. “Enjoy yourself man, you deserve it after these last few years with that harpy.”

Belle stopped listening as they began to discuss Graham’s recent escape from some woman’s clutches. Soon, she found herself tucked into the car, rattling away from the airport and the city itself.

“Really sorry about what happened,” Neal was saying, failing to indicate as he zoomed in and out of traffic. Belle kept her eyes on the Native American dream catcher hanging from his rearview mirror as she gripped the door handle tightly. “It’s fairly common in international travel, according to Papa.”

At this familiar name, Belle turned to him. “You call your father Papa too?”

“Oh, yea,” Neal answered back with a grin. “I know it sounds silly but I grew up with my mother in America. She left him when barely old enough to walk. Met some dashing Irish Naval officer in a pub one night and the next thing I knew, I was Neal Jones. I had to call him Dad. My father is still good ole Papa.”

“Where in America?” Belle asked carefully, sensing the warmth in his voice masked a deeper wound.

“Michigan,” he answered cheerfully. “Then, Cleveland, Memphis, Dallas, Portland, Atlanta, Little Rock and finally when I was eighteen, I moved to New York City. Always wanted to live in Tampa though, just never got there. What about you?”

“Small town in Maine called Storybrooke. Why did you leave New York?”

“Sounds nice,” Neal said just as he nearly rear-ended a semi truck. “Well, I got into some trouble with some nasty characters and next thing I knew, I was in a hospital.”

“Oh,” Belle whispered, her hand rising to her heart. “Your poor mother.”

“She was dead by then,” Neal told her frankly as if he was telling her the weather was overcast. “Hadn’t spoken to her in years. Not since she left me somewhere in-between Cleland and Memphis. Her and Jones worked on a cruise ship for a while before she got sick and passed. No idea where he ended up.”

Belle kept quiet, nodding along in fear of saying the wrong thing. The idea of a mother leaving her son seemed completely alien to her. Her last memory of her mother, laughing as she ran out of the door to run a quick errand before dinner, played in her mind as Neal began to scan the radio.

“How did you end up back in Scotland?” Belle finally braved.

“Papa came to New York when I was in the hospital. Apparently, he had been looking for me for years, but Ma changed our names so he hadn’t had much luck. When they issued a John Doe when I was unconscious, the blood type and fingerprints matched up in Interpol.”

“Was that… a good thing?” Belle asked tentatively. “Were you happy to see him?”

Neal shook his head before wrenching it around to check behind him as he barely stopped out a roundabout. Belle was unable to look at the city itself, growing carsick every time she glanced out the window at this breakneck speed. “Hated him. Wanted nothing to do with him. You see, I begged him once when we were in Ireland, right before we moved to America, to come get me. He promised he would, hung up the phone and two weeks later, I was in America. Never heard from again so I thought that was that.”

At a loss for what to say as Neal casually spilled out his life story to her as if it was the weather, Belle curled her fingers tighter around her current lifeline, the illustrated edition of Caroll’s classic. Neal noticed her fidgeting and shrugged his shoulders.

“It is what it is,” he assured her. “He paid for my hospitalization and asked for nothing in return but a phone call from time to time. He was plenty surprised when I showed up to the airport to go back with him.”

Belle nodded in agreement. “People can change.”

Neal laughed at this, shooting her an incredulous look. “You were just robbed and you can sit there and tell me people can change? Wow, Belle, you might be one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.”

She gave a weak smile at this, folding her arms under her chest as she glared down at her heeled booties. Her leggings were speckled with dust and fuzz and her jacket felt sticky. She had avoided her reflection in the mirror the past few hours but her mouth felt and tasted as if something had died in it.

“Here we are,” Neal suddenly said and Belle glanced up, expecting a high-rise modern hotel. Instead, a baronial villa loomed up at from its perch upon a high hill. The romantic two-story structure was complete with a tall, thin tower on the northeast end of it.

“That is a castle,” Belle stuttered. “You said you worked at hotel!”

“Sure,” Neal said, his voice entirely too cheerful. “The Sherbrooke Castle Hotel.”

Belle stared up at the rich red sandstone amidst the landscaped gardens in awe. Looking behind them as they exited the car, she noticed iron bars, aged but well cared for surrounded the grounds.

“Baelfire!”

“Oh yea,” Neal turned to her with a put upon expression. “Remember how I mentioned my mom changed our names?”

“Baelfire!” Repeated the strident call. Belle turned to find a figure standing in the open doorway of the hotel.

Hoisting the suitcase in his arm, Neal nodded towards the stairs. “I prefer Neal if it’s all the same to you. We best get going before he gets agitated.”

“Is that your father?” Belle asked, trying to keep up with the man’s longer strides. “Why doesn’t he just come down here?”

“Bad leg,” Neal murmured under his breath. Making their way up the steep hill, Belle found herself growing considerably more ill at ease as the neared the still figure. Neal seemed unperturbed by it, and when they made the landing, he smiled winningly at the slight man in the doorway as he put the suitcase down.

“Papa, this is Belle French. She’s going to be staying with us while her embassy processes a new passport for her.”

Standing just behind Neal, Belle came under intense scrutiny as the older man surveyed her. He did not move aside for them, simply planted himself in the middle of the foyer. His hands rested atop a long ebony cane that was capped in a snarling golden wolf head. He cut an impressive figure, barely taller than Belle in her heels; he still seemed larger than life, perfectly framed in the doorway.

Beyond him, Belle could make a beautiful ornate wooden staircase, reds and greens flickering in the meager sunlight that was peering through the clouds. It made the dark suit he wore pop; the lighter gray vertical pinstripes making him appear taller. His shoes, shiny black were pointed and long, but polished to a shine so neat, Belle could see his reflection in them.

He cleared his throat when he saw her gaze linger there. She jerked it back up, noticing the silk grey tie with emblems embossed on it, and a neat pocket handkerchief on the flared lapel collars. At odds with this ensemble, was his longer shaggy hair, falling in a center part to frame his angular face.

She saw some of Neal in the way the man’s eyes flickered, and they had the same coloring but little of the younger man’s warmth was readily evident in him. Clearing her throat, Belle came from behind Neal, highly aware of her rumpled clothes and the smell of alcohol clinging to her, to hold her hand out.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” she enthused. “I told Neal I would be happy to work for my board-“

The older man ignored her, turning to his son to ask,” What’s this now?”

“Belle’s purse got lifted on the plane,” Neal said, pulling out his cell as it buzzed at him. “My mate Graham from Dublin asked if we could help her out until she gets a new passport.”

“That’s out of the question,” Neal’s father said neutrally. “We have the Gala this week-“

“She can stay in my room,” Neal interjected. Belle looked back to see he was standing casually, texting a response to someone. However, his shoulders were tight and he had his jaw clenched as he prepared to challenge his father.

Belle turned back to find the older man looking at her in displeasure. Ignoring the urge to curl up in a ball and disappear, she raised her head, gritting her teeth as she stared back at him. “I don’t want to be any trouble,” she informed them both. “If there’s no room, I’ll find somewhere else.”

She was surprised by the deep sigh that emanated from doorway. “Nonsense, Miss French. If Neal is find with your using his usual quarters, and you are willing to work for your meals, I don’t see why we can’t make this arrangement work for a few days. I was simply caught off guard. Neal usually give some warning before he brings in strays. ”

She gave him a curt nod, not entirely thrilled to be compared to a dog. She snagged her suitcase from Neal’s inattentive hands. “If you’ll just tell me where the room is, I would like to shower.”

“I’ll show you,” Neal offered, moving to take the suitcase back form despite her protests. “The hotel is built around three sides of the hall and staircase, it can be a bit confusing.”

Belle followed Neal past his father, resisting the urge to gape at the beautiful ornateness of the Victorian hall. The carpet and stair runner was a brilliant red and green plaid that made her eyes swim but the rich mahogany and detailed arches of the hall made it seem as part of the architecture. Belle traced the gold rail as they ascended the staircase, turning right to head down the hallway. When they reached the end, Belle slightly behind him as she looked at the old paintings lining the hall and the odd suit of armor they stopped beside.

“Papa’s room is next door,” Neal explained. “But he’s hardly ever in there.”

He opened a door and pushed it open, revealing a rather neat and large white room with a four-poster bed and canopy. Belle walked in behind him, marveling at the neatness. Neal noticed her looking around and shared, “I live with family down the road. I moved out a year ago but he still won’t rent this room out.”

“Oh,” Belle said, sitting upon the edge of the queen size bed. Her legs dangled off of it, and as it sank below her she realized how tired she was.

“None of that,” Neal said, plunking her suitcase down beside her on the white comforter. “It’s almost three in the afternoon. If you fall asleep now, you’ll be up all night. Get a shower and come downstairs, I’ll show you the kitchen and introduce you to the staff.”

Forty minutes later, Belle emerged from her room, pink and glowing. Wearing her favorite skirt, her prized McQueen herringbone skirt with tan belt and the ornate navy and gold blouse she had found online for half off. Over it, she had thrown a blue and red cardigan that she had stuffed into her suitcase. The castle was warm but it had a draft and her brown tights were not the warmest. As she made her way down the hall, her Chloe boots muffled on the carpet, she felt more of her old self.

When someone said her name, the Scottish accent rubbing the vowels in an oddly pleasing way, Belle found herself standing before Neal’s father once more.

“I trust you found the facilities to your satisfaction?” He inquired, his eyebrow rising slightly.

Belle pushed her bangs behind her ear. “Yes, thank you,” she replied. “Neal said he would show me around?”

“Neal was called away,” the older man told her. “His wife had a flat tire and was in need of his immediate assistance.”

“Oh,” Belle murmured, looking around as she struggled to find something else to say that had more depth than her one-syllable responses. “Could you perhaps show me where I’ll be working?”

A flicker of emotion crossed his features but before she could analyze it, it was gone. Instead, he lifted his hand from his cane, indicating her to go down a hall just off the main room.

She followed his silent instruction. He followed behind her, and she heard the unmistakable sound of a shuffling noise indicating a severe limp. She didn’t turn back to him, walking slowly and listening for his further guidance. Instead, after a few moments of walking, she realized he was no longer following.

Turning, she found him half way down the hall, staring after her in amusement. “This way, Miss French,” he called out and she had to bite her tongue as she stomped back to him.

“I didn’t know where I was going,” she said brusquely she brushed past him into a large dining hall.

“Why ever didn’t you follow me then?” He asked her innocently.

She resisted the urge to argue with him, turning her head to look around. It was a beautiful space but before she could take in anything other than the grandness of it, she heard an English feminine voice cry out in excitement quickly followed by a male heavily French accented voice crying out, “Sacré Bleu, it’s a girl!”

“Of course, it’s a girl, you ridiculous excuse for a sommelier,” came another English accent, this one masculine. “What do you take her for, a cow?”

“Manners,” trilled the feminine voice in a kind tone that brooked no arguments. “She’s our guest!”

Her host sighed heavily as Belle turned to find three newcomers approaching them from a swinging closed door, which she assumed to be the kitchen.

A tall, lanky man reached her first, bending down before her as he took her hand, raising it to his lips as he murmured, “Enchanté, mademoiselle. I am Lumière. ”

Before she could response, a short squat man had bounced the other out of the way, taking her hand in both of his and pumping it firmly up and down a few times. “Pleasure to meet you, my dear girl!”

“Cogsworth,” reprimanded the woman as she finished crossing the hall. “Let the poor thing breath.”

“Mrs. Potts,” her host greeted the woman with respect. “This is Belle French, she will be staying with us until she can attain a passport from her embassy.”

“Pleasure to meet you all,” Belle smiled despite her fatigue. Glancing at Mrs. Potts, Belle couldn’t help but think of Ruby’s grandmother, Mrs. Lucas. Both had the white hair and glasses of a typical grandmother but while Mrs. Lucas had the iron grit of the backwoods woman of the frontier, this Mrs. Potts was ivory and marble.

“But this is wonderful,” Lumière was saying. “The Gala is two days away and we had no one of your beauty to attend.”

Mrs. Potts quickly explained. “We host a charity event every year for Glasgow. We’re a bit short handed this year due to some unforeseen circumstances.”

Lumière sniffed. “Babette is merely vacationing at her mother’s,” the Frenchman explained haughtily.

“She’s left you, you mean,” Cogsworth said under his breath loudly, earning him a nasty look from Mrs. Potts.

“Of course, she is,” Mrs. Potts replied as she ignoring the stouter man. “She would have turned in her notice to Mr. Gold if she had planned on not returning.”

As everyone swung their gaze to the now named Mr. Gold, he scowled back at them. “I do not discuss my employee’s private matters with other employees,” he said scathingly. “Mrs. Potts, Belle will be assisting now and again where you see fit to pay for her board until she leaves Thursday.”

“That’s not necessary,” Belle interjected. “I don’t have any spending money so I’ll be spending a majority of my time here-“

“We’d be happy to provide some spending money,” Lumière offered with an open hand. “Cogsworth, see to it.”

Belle held her hands up, feeling oddly enchanted by the odd trio, despite the intimidating shadow of their employer lingering beside them. “No, really. I want to earn my keep.”

Mrs. Potts nodded sagely. “I could use some help with prep in the kitchen in the early mornings but we don’t have any in house guest at the moment due to the Gala.”

“Really? Belle asked, turning her gaze to Mr. Gold. He didn’t even flinch, merely stared back at her with a stoic expression. “Well, that’s fine then. Cogsworth, Lumière, anything I can help you with?”

“If you find yourself bored, you are welcome to come help me at the front desk,” Cogsworth said, puffing his chest up in pride.

Seizing the opportunity, Lumière scoffed. “Perhaps mademoiselle would like to help me in the bar in the evenings? We have a few waitresses but I am the only sommelier-“

“Bartender,” coughed Cogsworth.

Lumière ignored him. “And but of course, I would appreciate a beautiful woman’s assistance.”

“If that will be all,” Gold interrupted. “I will be retiring to my office. Miss French, dinner is served at seven.”

Belle nodded. As he disappeared back the way he came, she turned to find all three of them staring at her in interest. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” sang Mrs. Potts. “How about a tour of the property before we start to serve dinner?”

Agreeing out of curiosity, Belle let the trio pull her along in their wake. They spent an enjoyable afternoon around the grounds and exploring the nooks and crannies of the hotel before the dinner hour rolled around. Over tea, Belle told them what had happened, all suitably outraged on her behalf.

Mrs. Potts refused to let her in the kitchen, ushering her into the dining hall carrying just a bottle of wine Lumière had picked for the evening meal.

Entering the hall, Belle saw a few diners starting their meal. With a set menu, Mrs. Potts had reassured her she needed nothing but to offer the wine selection. Instead, she found all the diners had wine already on their table.

“Perhaps Mr. Gold would like it,” Belle found herself saying to Lumière who nodded in thought.

“Why not?” He shrugged. “Mrs. Potts brought up a plate for him and the young master to his office, I believe.”

“Neal isn’t here,” Belle reminded him.

“Oh, that’s right,” Lumière murmured. “Well, he’ll have an extra plate. You might as well take it back to your room. If you feel up to it later, the bar will be open until midnight but I expect a slow crowd tonight. Perhaps you ought to get some rest, you’ve had a rather trying day.”

When Belle knocked on the office door, she heard a gruff voice call for her to enter. Upon her entrance, she found the unpleasant owner of the hotel, entombed behind his desk as he poured over paperwork. On the round table on the other side of the room, a large cart laid untouched, plates carefully wrapped in foil to keep it warm.

“What are you doing here?” He demanded, stilling in his accounts as he glared at her suspiciously.

“I brought wine,” she said, holding up the bottle helpfully. “For dinner.”

“Leave it there,” he indicated the table. Belle walked over to put it down, smelling the delicious concoction of the typical Scottish pudding she had seen Mrs. Potts working on earlier.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” She asked him. “It’s getting cold.”

“No matter,” came the response.

“Can I have it then?”

He looked back up in bewilderment. “Didn’t they feed you downstairs?”

Belle shook her head, her stomach gurgling it’s complaint soon after. “I think they thought I would eat in my room.”

“Nonsense,” he stood. “Take what you want. Leave the wine and have Mrs. Potts send up my nightly tea when you go back downstairs.”

“Couldn’t I just-“

“Goodbye, Miss French.”

Hurrying to collect the extra portion, Belle quickly let herself out. Standing in the hall, she looked back over at the dining hall before back up the stairs. With a sigh, she began the climb, trying to name the mild disappointment at her dismissal. It was simply she didn’t want to eat alone, she told herself as she let herself in her room.

Nothing more.

\--

A few hours later, Belle stood back outside the office door. This time, she had a teacart beside her, steam curling in enticing ribbons from the sprout.

After a call to enter, Belle let herself back in, finding Gold once more at his desk, but this time his suit jacket had been shed and his tie ever so slightly loosened. His cuffs were pushed back to his elbow, the dark fabric rolled expertly back.

“You again, Miss French?” He said in way of greeting. “Is my staff so eager to avoid the trip from the kitchen?”

Belle shrugged as she wheeled the cart inside the office. “I just wanted to help,” she told him bluntly. “If you cold resist snapping at people when they are kind enough to go out of their way for you…”

“Point taken,” he sighed as she turned and smiled at him in victory. “You can go, Miss French. Have Jefferson take you into the city tomorrow if you feel so inclined, Cogsworth can front you some money until you get your matters settled.”

“Thank you but I’ve already planned on helping Cogsworth in the garden tomorrow,” Belle took one more longing look at the teacart before she headed back towards the door. Certainly Mrs. Potts planned on taking a cup of tea before bed, perhaps she could avail her to share some.

“Miss French?”

Turning as she reached the door, Belle looked back at him in question. Without looking up from his accounts, he dismissed her with a pointed, “Do try and avoid further unsavory characters. My hotel and I cannot play hero to every damsel in distress.”

“Of course,” Belle said but she lingered as she looked back at him. He didn’t look back up at her but she knew he was not focusing on his ledgers either. “And thank you again. I know you don’t have to let me stay here, and you certainly don’t have to let me work off my debt. But I appreciate it, it helps distract me from the feeling of being…”

She struggled to find the right world, and surprised when he looked up at her, brown eyes dark in the low lighting of his office. “Violated,” he supplied softly and she nodded in agreement.

“Yes,” she whispered more to herself than to him. “That’s the word.”

And she let herself out. Forgetting her earlier plan to seek out Mrs. Potts, she stumbled upstairs and fell into her canopy bed, half dressed.

Despite the still early hour, barely quarter past ten, Belle stared up at the canopy as she looked back on her day thus far. Far from the adventure she had planned, the past forty-eight hours seemed a stranger’s story to her, one almost unbelievable in it’s unpredictability.

Belle peeled of her house, careful to lay her skirt and blouse out before she unhooked her bra and slid her nightshirt over her as she flipped the comforter open, eagerly crawling into the bed.

Tomorrow would be Sunday; she had planned to spend all of today exploring Mitchell library and Sunday to explore Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Glasgow Cathedral but perhaps later this week, after she had worked out her passport and her banking situation.

Four hours later, when Mr. Gold let himself into his room next door, she did not hear him. She was lost in dreams of friends back home and her father standing before her on the tarmac, holding a copy of _Her Handsome Hero_ in one hand and _Alice in Wonderland_ in the other, telling her to choose.


	2. Chapter 2

At the sound of crunching leaves, Belle looked up from her book to find she was no longer alone.

Just clearing the horizon came Mr. Gold. The hotel stood majestically behind him in the meager light of the cloudy afternoon. Coming to a stop, he nodded at her. His hands rested lightly upon his cane as he took in the view of the hilly terrain.

If his attempt was to unnerve her, it backfired. A rueful smile sprang to her lips as looked back down to continue reading.

After a busy morning helping Mrs. Potts take breakfast up to the few remaining guests, she had helped Cogsworth check the majority of the guests out before retreating to the staff room.

Lumière had not arrived to work yet. This was fairly common most mornings as the other two explained to her over their second cups of tea. With no lunch meeting at the hotel that day, they all had little to do until the evening, Mrs. Potts suggested Belle make the most of the early afternoon and explore the grounds.

Of course, she had wandered around for a while but her faux suede buckle boots hadn’t fared well in the damp Scottish lawns. The slight wedge heel didn’t sink into the muck but she had quickly turned the toes of the already chocolate brown suede into a dirty black.

Finding the best garden vantage point, a large wooden bench perfectly situated to overlook the castle and the gardens below, Belle had happily settled herself down to read. At least, until she had been interrupted.

When she did not hear him depart, Belle smiled down at the page, turning it loudly. “Afternoon, Mr. Gold.”

A grunt that she supposed passed for a reply emanated from before her. She peered up from under her bags to survey him. He, like the day before, was dressed in an impeccable black suit. His attire was at odds with the rough terrain. Even more incongruous was the leather gardening apron he had draped over him, looking more a butcher than a hotel owner.

“Is there any thing you needed? She inquired as she lowered the book into her lap. “Mrs. Potts said I wouldn’t be needed for a few hours yet.”

“Nothing at all,” came the bored response. Belle nodded, turning back to her reading only to find he still did not move on.

Resisting the urge to sigh, she stood. She shot him an irritated look as she began to make her way back to the hotel. It was growing chilly as the early sunset began to sink down into the horizon. Her faux fur lined leather bomber jacket, even zipped up until her pale yellow scarf disappeared into the cream collar, did not do much to assuage the chill. Brushing off her mantis green cargo pants, she said a faint goodbye before disappearing down the hill.

When she reached the backdoor, she turned back to the hill. The figure of the hotel owner had disappeared from the horizon, leaving her puzzling at his odd behavior as she let herself back inside.

\--

As the last guest headed upstairs after dinner, Mrs. Potts wiped her hands on her apron. The pristine white fabric remained miraculously unwrinkled or stained even after the evening rush. “Well, that’s it then. I’m off.”

Belle wished her a good night, adding, “Thank you again for everything.”

“Think nothing of it,” Mrs. Potts reached out to pat her hand, before stepping back with a searching smile. “You know, Belle,” she said, tilting her head to the side ever so slightly. “I believe Scotland agrees with you.”

His voice was muffled from the underneath the bar where he was doing inventory. Lumière agreed ,“Mais bien sûr, one would have to be blind to miss it.”

“Indeed,” Mrs. Potts agreed as the lanky man straightened. “Well, don’t keep her up too late, Lumière. She’s had a busy day.”

Raising his hand to his breast in an exaggerated affronted gesture, he waved her away. With a final round of goodnights, Mrs. Pots disappeared towards the back door.

Once she was gone, Lumière shot her a pleading look as he finished pouring whiskey over a large cube of ice in a crystal tumbler. “Belle, ma Cherie, would you be so kind as to bring Mr. Gold his night cap? I was hoping to use the downtime this evening to do inventory of the wine cellar. If I take this upstairs, he’ll demand we have a little tête-à-tête about our pricing strategy for the next quarter.”

Belle stood from her perch on the spinning barstool. “I don’t mind.”

Raising the glass to him in salute, she headed back towards Gold’s office. Passing a mirror, she noticed her jacket had become unzipped, revealing the low cut cream tank top beneath her scarf’s draping. She paused after she zipped it back up, brushing out her side ponytail over her shoulder as she fretted over the windburn on her cheeks.

Turning towards the west wing of the hotel, she knocked briefly at the door before letting herself in without bothering to wait for a reply. Brown eyes jerked up angrily at the intrusion. Forestalling any unpleasantness, she placed the tumbler down right in front of him, jerking a thumb over her shoulder at the untouched food plate Mrs. Potts had brought him up earlier. “Want me to take that back down to the kitchen?”

“Does it look like I’ve finished?” Gold replied drily.

Twisting her lips, Belle shrugged at him. “Just asking. Lumière is going to be in the wine cellar for the rest of the night. Mrs. Potts and Cogsworth already left since they have to be back early for some breakfast meeting in the main hall.”

He nodded, eyes flickering to a calendar with spiky writing covering it that hung behind him on his desk. “The King Group,” he murmured to himself. “Yes, they’ll be here early.”

“Mrs. Potts told me they hired staff for the event,” Belle shared with him. He looked up at her. His red tinged plum shirt glowed in the lamp light on his desk. Before she caught herself, Belle found she was staring at the red ad black checked tie nestled in the hollow of his throat.

Not until he cut in her thoughts with a droll, “Did I forget to shave again?”

Mortified, Belle dragged her gaze back up to his gaze, finding him watching her. He had a sly smile and a mischievous glint in his dark eyes. “I was just going to say, Cogsworth mentioned Jefferson might be in tomorrow. I hoped I might be able to go into town. With everything, you’ve been more than kind but I was hoping that I might get to at least see Mitchell Library before my flight Thursday.”

“Oh? Out of books to read so soon, Miss French?”

Staring down at him, Belle had the rather unsettling feeling he was joking with her but just as the notion crossed her mind, he shook his head and returned to his paperwork. With a clear wave of his hand, he dismissed her. “I’ll let Jefferson know you’ll accompany him to town in the afternoon.”

With a quiet thank you, Belle made her escape. As she walked back down to rejoin Lumière, she paused again before the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes sparkling from the wine she had sampled earlier. Mrs. Potts had mentioned the Scottish air had agreed with her and as she gazed at her own reflection, she was surprised to find she was inclined to agree.

\--

Pulling on the dark brown leather gloves Mrs. Potts has found for her in the staff room, Belle hurried towards the front hall. She spared a quick glance down at the cashmere-lined accessories, already half in love with them. Mrs. Potts had insisted she borrow them since the temperature was fast dropping outside. Apparently, the currently vacationing Babette had very fine taste.

Plus, the dark leather matched her favorite shoes. With a clear forecast ahead, she had felt it worth the risk to wear her black and maroon leather Saint Laurent heels. The gorgeous round toe was elegant with just a hint of texture from the pebbled leather patch on the back heel.

These had been her first splurge on her first real paycheck after her graduation. The memory of the evening she had tried them on for the first time was one of her favorite last memories of her family before the tragedy.

Her mother had been at her desk working on her latest dissertation as her father watched the game. When Belle had stumbled in, trying to learn to walk in the platform pumps, her mother had convinced her father to stand up next to her, snapping a photo at the still sizeable height difference between father and daughter.

At the thought of her father, a small smile graced her face. She had sent him an email from Cogsworth’s computer earlier that morning. It had been a quick update to her father and a few social media updates to the girls, mainly pictures from the castle. Then, she had finally managed to get a hold of the Storybrooke bank.

The man known as Will Scarlet had indeed wiped her entire savings account. All of her meager savings were gone. The bank had apologized, but there was little they could do unless the thief was apprehended. Belle had hung up with a hollow feeling in her gut.

She had been working in the Storybrooke library since graduation but it barely had covered rent as it had been. Just before the trip, she had turned in her notice, certain that with her trip to Scotland, everything would change.

Do the brave thing, her mother used to tell her. And bravery will follow.

Now, with nothing to fall back, it was looking increasingly likely that Belle would have to move back in with her father for a few months. A grim prospect considering neither of them were able to stomach some rooms of their old home, memories of her mother still haunting the once familiar corners.

Lost in her thoughts, Belle nearly collided with someone as they stepped out of a nearby room. Stumbling to a halt, she had to put her hand to her hat to keep the red beret from tumbling to the floor.

Mrs. Potts appeared at the other end of the hall, spotting Belle before the stranger did. “There you are, dear,” Mrs. Pott called to her. The man she nearly collided with turned around, a slow excited smile blooming across his broad features, as he looked down at her in her six-inch heels. “I see you’ve already met Jefferson.”

“Uh,” Belle looked up at him with a tight smile. “Not quite yet.”

“The famous Belle,” Jefferson drawled. He had a slight accent which Belle had trouble placing other than vaguely eastern European. “I expected someone taller.”

“Jefferson, mon ami!” Came the exuberant shout from around the corner. “The boss would like a word!”

The golden head of the sommelier rounded the corner as he gestured for them to join him. The grumbling tones of Cogsworth followed suit, “But why does he insist on parking in the main drive? How many times do I have to instruct him to park in the back, not in the flower beds!“

Jefferson’s quiet amusement erupted into a riotous laugh without warning. He turned his head back to Belle with a slight shake of his head as his barks of laughter died away. “Better get going before Cogsworth has a conniption.” He offered her his arm, proclaiming, “To the library!”

Gingerly, she accepted the offered arm. Mrs. Potts had joined the other heads of staff so Belle took the opportunity to peer at Jefferson from the corner of her eye.

He wore a beautiful checked shawl scarf, silk wool from the look of it, with the familiar logo of Gucci peering from one of the folds. It half covered the black polka dotted cropped vest he had over a rich brocade dress shirt.

He was a hard man to miss, especially when he laughed. It transformed the stern face with his cleft chin and heavy brows into a manic expression of hilarity, even his dark ringed eyes lit up although it left her feeling off center instead of at ease.

“A picture would last longer,” he teased in a laughing tone. Belle blushed, self-conscious that he had caught her staring. “I am told I photograph rather well.”

Belle didn’t doubt it. With his thick hair, heavy with product but perfectly styled and teased and his almost clear blue eyes, she felt almost frumpish next to him.

As they rounded the corner into the main hall, Belle faltered slightly at the sight of Gold standing inexplicably in the foyer. He wore another black suit. The only difference today was he had on a black and white checkered shirt with it, paired with an ebony checkered Windsor knot tie.

The lighter color looked wrong on him. It washed him out, masking the intensity in his features. Belle decided his chosen dark palette must have been a conscious choice on the businessman’s part.

Jefferson didn’t falter at all. He brought her closer to him as they approached, a cock sure smile lingering at the corner of his lips. Belle shot him a quick questioning glance but he squeezed her forearm slightly before greeting Gold.

“Jefferson,” Gold acknowledged, his brogue deepening as he said the other man’s name. “There’s been a change in plans.”

“You don’t say,” Jefferson responded in polite interest.

The older man shot him a look before he cleared his throat. “My business meeting was moved to the city,” he informed them. “I thought to avoid the parking nightmare, I would accompany you and Miss French this afternoon.”

Jefferson pursed his lips and nodded sagely. “Makes sense, boss.”

They made their way to where Jefferson had parked the hotel Cadillac. It was half in the flowerbeds on the west side of the hotel. Gold said nothing. He simply arched an eyebrow at him before opening the door for her. “After you, Miss French.”

Carefully, Belle scooted into the car, her high waisted mini skirt, while stylish burgundy faux leather, was not ideal for getting in and out of low cars. She tucked her legs underneath her, rubbing nervously at the fabric of her maroon tights.

In a series of already surprising moments, Gold followed her into the backseat. She scooted over hastily as Jefferson settled himself into the driver’s seat with a languid grace. Belle folded her hands in her lap as Gold settled beside her, his cane lying between them like a divider.

He glanced over at her. His pointed and narrow nose made him lent him an air of severity. She tried to see past it. After all, Will had been a charming talkative companion and he had stolen everything she had on her. Gold, while stoic and taciturn, had been nothing but generous in her short time at his property.

Deciding it would be silly to pass the entire drive in silence, she made a stab at conversation. “Where in the city is your meeting?”

“Near the library,” he said curtly, rolling his shoulders as he settled back against the seat. Jefferson was humming under his breath, no stranger it seemed to Gold’s preferred brand of riding in silence. Belle nodded, turning to watch the drive.

“Did Neal drive you from the airport?” Jefferson asked when he noticed her peering out the window. Belle replied he had and Jefferson let out a snicker even as Gold sighed.

“My apologies for my son’s driving,” he told her. “He learned in New York and I’m afraid he picked up some of their worst tendencies.”

Not wanting to be rude, especially considering Neal had come down to the airport to rescue her from the terminal, Belle shook her head. “He wasn’t that bad.”

Gold snorted this time, shaking his head as a ghost of a smile lifted the corners of his lips ever so slightly. “Meaning he refrained from honking the horn the entire time. Believe me, Miss French,” he nodded his head at Jefferson who was swaying ever so slightly as he moved along to the song playing quietly on the radio. “I only tolerate Jefferson here so I do not have to put up with Glasgow drivers, most of who put my Baelfire to shame.”

At the Gaelic name of his son, Belle leaned over the cane. Gold tensed slightly as she pressed closer to him, asking,” What does that mean? I met a woman named Reul on the flight.”

“Blue?” He asked, his lips quirking downward in distaste. “Bit ridiculous.”

“And naming your son Lord of Fire wasn’t a bit presumptuous?” Jefferson commented. Belle found herself smiling at as their eyes met in the rearview.

“It’s a family name,” Gold replied hotly. “If he wants to go around calling himself, Neal, that’s his choice.”

Curiosity had a hold of her now and she turned to Jefferson. “Is Jefferson your first or last name?”

“First,” he told her. “My Family name is Pălărier.”

At her look of uncertainty, Gold clarified. “Jefferson hails from Romania originally.”

“So,” Belle hedged. “Jefferson is another family name?”

Jefferson laughed,” My mother was rather fond of the American rock movement.”

As if waiting for this, he cranked up the radio, the familiar tune of Jefferson Airplane White Rabbit coming over the airwaves.

As the song swelled, Belle recalled the book that was sitting buried at the bottom of her suitcase. She clutched her gloves tighter, thinking of what could have happened to her mother’s favorite book. She wondered if Will had kept it or if he thrown it in the trash with the rest of her items he couldn’t sell.

“Jefferson,” came the soft voice from beside her. “Perhaps another song.”

Pale blue eyes reflected in the rearview, taking in Belle’s pale face before he nodded. “Sure thing, boss.”

Belle noticed a photograph tucked in the console, a young girl, holding up a drawing proudly next to a beautiful blonde. Before she could inquire, the car hit the city proper and Belle was suitably distracted the by the hustle and bustle. Gold pointed out a few interesting buildings, Jefferson adding in a few more colorful comments to her (and she suspected Gold’s) amusement.

Finally, the Cadillac arrived in Charing Cross. As they pulled up alongside North Street, Belle tried to get a better view through the throngs of people on the sidewalk. Dominating the entire block stood a massive stone building. Belle peered out her window as Jefferson parked, marveling at the distinctive copper dome she had seen in so many photographs in her mother’s books.

The baroque building housing the largest municipal reference libraries in Western Europe loomed over street level. The colonnaded façade of the Halls matched the building, making the entire thing feel carved out of the same stone despite its massive size. More neoclassical, sharing similarities to Washington DC’s famous buildings or even the Italian churches from the baroque period, it stood out from the typical Glasgow architecture

She turned to find Gold staring at her, a half smile crooked across his face. “What?” She demanded, smiling back at him.

“Was the houndstooth tweed blazer a conscious choice?” He inquired, indicating her mother’s old school blazer. Belle fingered the worn fabric as Jefferson scrolled through his own cell phone in apparent disinterest. Belle fiddled with the buttons on the cuff as she nodded.

“My mother’s,” she said softly. It no longer smelled of her, the scent had faded over the many times she had worn it to comfort herself. Still, it felt right that she wore this today.

Gold gave a small nod of understanding before he cleared his throat. “Jefferson will be out in the car park off to the side there,” he indicated the clearly marked area. “The restaurant and bar are closed tonight in preparation for the Gala, so no need to hurry back to the Hotel.”

Nodding her understanding, Belle disembarked. After a moment, the Cadillac pulled away, leaving her alone on the sidewalk before the library.

“Here we go, Mama,” Belle whispered, clutching the cuff of the sleeve in her palm. “This is for you.”

She joined the group of people entering the building, enjoying the rise and fall of the unique Scottish accent as well as the various other dialects floating through the air as she disappeared from the cold autumn air.

\--

Someone was clearing their throat.

Repeatedly.

Glancing up from the book she was clutching in her lap, Belle looked up to find Mr. Gold looming over her.

Looking around her in some confusion, Belle furrowed her brow at him. “Hello?”

“I’ve been standing here for over ten minutes,” he informed her crossly. “It’s no wonder you were robbed blind. You pay no attention to your surroundings.”

“I was reading,” Belle explained, holding up the book helpfully. “They have every book you could think of in here.”

“I did grow up in Glasgow,” he told her crossly. But his voice held a sense of pride and she sensed he was secretly pleased she was fascinated with the old building. “And why does an Australian-American have such fascination with this place?”

Belle licked her lips as her mouth went slightly dry. With as steady voice as she cold manage, she said, “My mother. She was killed about a year ago this week. Mugging gone wrong.” She avoided his gaze, fixating instead on the way the pages felt against her fingertips. “We went through her things to find her will; I found her bucket list.”

“I see,” came the gravelly response. Turning back to him, Belle gestured for him to sit down. After a brief hesitation, he sank down into the chair beside her.

“She had done most of it, but the one she never got to do was to come see the Mitchell Library. They were the first library to buy one of her books,” she explained. “She always wanted to come visit it.”

His eyes fell to the book in her lap and Belle knew without him saying a further word that he understood. As she wiped way the tears that had collected, careful to not let them fall on her mother’s dissertation, Belle noticed Gold was rubbing his leg unconsciously. Without thinking she found herself asking, ”What happened to your leg?”

He opened his mouth, eyes flashing as he prepared to unleash a scathing remark but just as sudden, the fight went out of him. He deflated before her eyes, offering a heavy sigh as he glanced down at it. “I was in the Scots Guard in the early eighties,” he saw her opening his mouth and elaborated. “I joined shortly before my late wife took Baelfire to the States.”

She nodded her understanding, as he continued. “Have you ever heard of the Falklands War or the Battle of Mount Tumbledown?”

Despite her age, Belle nodded. Her parents had been devoted BBC followers. She had once joined them to watch a young Colin Firth play an officer who was disabled by an Argentinean sniper.

“My tank ran over a land mine. Not even, two hours into the battle and I was knocked unconscious. When I woke up, my knee was mangled beyond anyone’s help. Doctors said it would be miraculous if I walked again.”

“Glad to see you proved them wrong,” Belle said warmly, reaching out to put her hand where his shoulder. He glanced at her, but did not twitch away. After a moment, he cleared his throat.

“I doubt you would be interested,” he began abruptly before falling short as he avoided her gaze. “But I was going to take lunch at one of my favorite restaurants. I would be happy to front you some money for the café here if you would prefer to stay for the afternoon.’

‘Or perhaps,” he coughed slightly, looking down at the table as he toed the worn table legs with his black loafer. “You would be interested in sampling authentic Scottish fare as my guest?”

Belle’s fingers curled protectively around the book as she glanced back up at the other tables glowing in the lamp light in between the stacks. She knew the answer already but she took a moment, one last look for her mother.

And then, “I would love to.”

\--

An hour later, Belle pushed away her empty plate from her with a moan of happiness. Seated in an otherwise empty dining area, they were surrounded with oak and mahogany fixtures, stained glass windows that were dark from the clouds outside and a tartan carpet that made her feel like they were back at Sherbrooke.

“I couldn’t eat another bite,” Belle stated, as she tried to adjust her skirt’s waistband discreetly under the table. Across from her, her fellow diner shook his head as he continued to enjoy his Ayrshire lamb.

“So, you didn’t enjoy the halibut?” He asked innocently. “Anton will be crestfallen.”

Without warning, a shadow fell over the table. “What’s this about my Mallaig halibut? “

“Now, look what you’ve done,” Belle pouted, shooting him a wink before turning back to Anton. “He’s teasing. It was amazing, Anton. Truly the best meal I have ever had in my life.”

The gentle giant beamed at them both, his curly hair pulled back into a long bun as his nodding smile shook his jowls. Head chef, at the Two Fat Ladies at the Buttery, Anton had greeted Gold like a long lost brother. Despite their closing at three on weekdays, he had opened their main room for them even while they prepared for the dinner crowd.

“Dessert?” Anton suggested cheerfully. “I have black peppered strawberries that will have you seeing stars.”

“Promise?” Belle teased him, making the giant blush as he rushed off to put in the order. She was still grinning when she turned back to Gold; only to falter slightly at the odd way he was staring at her. “You’re doing it again,” she told him, reaching for her wine glass.

“I’m not,” he responded before frowning slightly. “What is it that I’m not doing?”

Belle took mercy on him. “You’re staring at me.”

“I’m just looking at you,” he grumbled, picking at his prune and Armagnac compote. “We’re at the same table, should I look at Anton when I’m speaking to you?”

“Best not. He might get a bit confused,” Belle giggled. Gold hid his answering smile with a well-timed bite of his rack of lamb.

When the chef returned, carrying two mouth-watering plates of ice cream, meringue and strawberries, they continued to discuss the city’s rich history. When they heard the door jingle open, they looked up to find diners entering, looking about in interest.

Gold paid the check, ignoring her promises to pay him back when she got her wallet back as they said goodbye. Anton made her promise if she ever needed anything to give him a call, getting her email before disappearing back into the kitchen for the dinner rush.

Belle was unsurprised to find the Cadillac waiting for them in front of the restaurant. She was however surprised to find the girl from the photo, slightly older, waving at them from the front seat. Gold limped past her to open the door, and she once again risked public embarrassment as she maneuvered her way into the lower car in her miniskirt.

The girl was half turned in her seat grinning at Belle. She smiled back at her, waving with her fingers as Gold grunted as he lowered himself as well. He had his hand back on his knee as Jefferson pulled away from the curb but he said nothing.

“Belle, this is my daughter, Grace,” Jefferson introduced the child beside him.

“Bonjour Belle,” the girl said sweetly in French.

“Bonjour,” Belle repeated. She had limited French but she tried to remember what little she could. “Ca Va, Grace?”

The little girl hid a giggle at her horrendous accent, turning to her father as she giggling accused him of lying. “You said she was French, Papa.”

“My mother was,” Belle hurried to explain before Jefferson got into any trouble. “But my father and I are Australian.”

The rest of the trip, slightly longer due to rush hour traffic, Belle spent talking to Grace. The preteen attended school in the city proper but she and her father lived just around the corner from the hotel. The majority of the car ride, Gold spent in silence although from time to time, she saw him smiling quietly to himself in the dark reflection of the window.

When they arrived at the hotel, a familiar bug was parked out front. Belle watched as Gold perked up, sitting forward as he craned his neck to look up the long drive.

“Did you know Neal was coming?” Jefferson asked them. Gold shook his head but shot Belle a side look.

As they parked, this time half on the lawn, they were met with the front door opening to reveal a figure coming down the grand stairs to meet them.

Neal was wearing the same hoodie as he had been the day she had met him, this time he wore a grey Henley tee underneath it and a scarf was draped over it as he hurried down the stairs. Gold unfolded himself from the car before turning and offering a hand to Belle.

Neal slowed to a stop as he watched his father help her from the car. Before he could comment, Grace had run around the car to fling herself into his arms. Without missing a beat, he picked her up and twirled her into the air. “Grace,” he panted. “How big you’re getting!”

“Is Henry here?” the girl demanded, craning her neck to see behind him.

“He’s with his mom,” Neal said, patting her on the head. “But Mrs. Potts wants to see you before you head home. She made some tablets this afternoon.”

Without waiting, Grace zoomed up the stairs, leaving the four adults out in the chilly night air. Gold jerked his head towards the door. “Let’s go inside,” he suggested and they all quickly agreed. She noticed as they took the stairs, Gold made efforts to not show the amount of pain he was in as he struggled up the stairs. She also noticed the two other men and herself matched his pace easily. Gold shot them a look but Belle pointed at her shoes and Jefferson and Neal ignored him entirely.

Once they were in the bar, Lumiére was already in the process of placing a bottle of wine out for them. “Did you enjoy the library, mademoiselle?”

“Very much,” she told him. Neal inquired about their day and she filled him in, noticing how he looked at his father when she mentioned they had gone to lunch together.

“Well, I just stopped by on my way home to let you know I spoke to Graham today. They were already booked this week with visa requests.” At Belle’s crestfallen face, he quickly added. “But he managed to get a meeting first thing Thursday morning. Cogsworth told me your birth certificate and new driver license came in from your father this afternoon, so you won’t miss your plane Thursday afternoon.”

Belle nodded, fighting the odd feeling of disappointment at the news. Seeing her face, Neal hurried to reassure her. “I know you wanted to sightsee, Belle. I can talk to Emma about if she can take some time off tomorrow or Wednesday and take you around town?”

“It’s not necessary,” she assured him. “Thank you though. I already told your father I would help with the Gala Wednesday.”

“Papa,” Neal sighed. “I know she said she would work but you can’t seriously let her work. Don’t we hire people for that?”

Jefferson snorted, helping himself to the bottle of scotch nearest to the bar top. He held it up and both Gold and Neal nodded their approval. Snatching some glasses, he made his way back to their table. “Of course, she’s not going to work it.”

“But,” Belle started, only to be cut off by Gold.

“Is you and Emma still planning on attending?”

“Course, Papa,” Neal said with a shrug. “Emma already bought Henry a new suit even though he’ll grow out of it in another month.”

“Did Grace find something suitable?” Gold asked, ignoring Belle’s continued attempts to speak. “Babette is returning tomorrow and I had planned on asking her to take Belle to Madam Armoire’s. Grace is welcome to join them.”

Before Jefferson responded, Mrs. Potts bustled in with a disapproving look on her face as she pushed Grace before her. “Who,” she demanded, looking at each of them in turn. “Did not feed this child dinner before sending her to raid my kitchen?”

All three men hurried to take swigs. Belle found herself receiving the disappointed glare before Grace saved her. “I told Papa I had eaten at school,” she confessed. “He wanted to cook haggis.”

Mrs. Potts sighed as Jefferson looked at his daughter in betrayal. “You love haggis,” he told her. The girl simply shrugged and took another bite of the confection she had managed to grab.

After Grace confirmed she had indeed picked out a dress, Mrs. Potts took her back to the kitchen, promising let the girl knead the bread for the morning. Lumière joined them at the table, demanding to know how their day in the city had gone.

An hour or two passed as the four adults sat around the table. Belle enjoyed the sound of the Scottish brogue competed to be heard over his son’s more strident American accent. Belle enjoyed the sound of her elongated vowels against Jefferson’s clipped vowels. Lumière simply repeated back to them whatever they had just said, translating into French as form of emphasis. After repeating the same words back and forth in an unofficial drinking game, Grace came running back down the hall claiming it was time to head book.

With a smile, Jefferson pushed up from the table. Neal quickly followed suit, promising to see them all on Wednesday. Belle thanked Neal again for the use of his quarters but he shook his head.

“It’s nothing,” he told her as he left. “Besides, Papa hasn’t been in this good of a mood for months.”

His father was currently deep in discussion with Lumière. As Belle made her way back over to them, Lumière suddenly stretched, yawning large enough to crack his jaw. After a pantomime of exhaustion, the Frenchman said his goodbyes and quickly disappeared towards the exit, all the while talking loudly about the perils of driving while tired.

Sitting down, Belle tugged off her paisley printed scarf, Belle picked up a menu to fan herself. “Hot,” she told him she began to shed her jacket. Her angora royal blue cardigan stuck to her all of a sudden and while she wanted to peel it off, she knew her lacey black camisole was too sheer.

Remembering an anecdote from their lunch, Belle turned giggling to share it with Gold only to find her laugh die on her lips.

They had split a bottle of wine at the restaurant, and in the last hour, he had finished two tumblers of scotch but somehow, Belle didn’t think that had anything to do with the way he was looking at her now.

“Stop that,” she ordered him. But her voice wavered as she stared back at him over the bar.

“Stop what?” He asked her. His brogue was heavier from the drinking, and Belle tried to ignore the way it only added to her growing fluster.

“Stop staring at me,” she clarified. Her cardigan itched terribly, but she had already shed he jacket, hat, scarf and gloves around the bar. Anything further would be invitation.

“I’m not,” he replied lowly. But he leaned forward, shortening the distance between them. The soft lighting of the bar brought out the amber in his greying hair, the tendrils of his mane curling slightly about his shoulder more noticeably than they had this morning.

Looking deep into his eyes, the gold flicks there adding warmth to the depths that she had somehow previously missed brought out bravery in her that she had not expected to find tonight. Leaning forward, she prepared to close the distance between them entirely. The way his lips pressed together as he stared at her made her want to feel them on her own skin. She was no stranger to attraction but she had never felt it quite like this.

Until a thought popped in her head.

He was leaning in now, eyes intent on her lips. She saw the moment he decided he wanted her and instead of closing her eyes and leaning into him, she blurted, “What’s your name?”

He blinked at this, sitting back to stare at her in confusion. “My name?” He repeated incredulously.

“I just realized I don’t know your name,” she explained, tucking her bangs behind her ear.

“Oh,” he said eloquently and Belle had to hold back a giggle at his confused expression. “It’s Mac Ratha.”

“Mark Rawhide?” Belle attempted. He repeated it back, deepening his brogue slightly. She tried again with little improvement. “Sorry,” she mumbled, covering her face with her hands. “It just sounds like Mark Rawhide.”

“Hence most people’s preference to call me Gold,” he held up the bottle to pour himself another drink.

“You going to tell me what it means?”

“Why does a name have to mean anything?” He asked her, playfulness in his tone. “Most parents name their children because they like the sound of it when they yell.”

“That’s horrible,” Belle swatted him. “One of my best friends had a baby and she named him Leo after her father.”

He raised an eyebrow slowly and Belle dissolved into giggles. “Every time I picture her hollering ‘Leooooo’ on the playground, I get flashbacks to Titanic,” she confessed, holding her side as she giggled into the wooden bar. “Poor kid.”

“It means Son of Good Fortune,” he told her when he finally relented teasing her about baby names.

“Your parents had high hopes,” Belle parroted back to him.

He shook his head. “My mother died in childbirth. My Da named me in the hopes I would rub off him. “ At her look, he explained. “Màel Coluim was one of the best-known gamblers in Glasgow during the seventies. Went by Malcolm, Peter or Colin depending on who he owed money to at the time.”

The mood had shifted away from their the earlier promise of the night but Belle still reached out to gingerly put her hand over his own. Without a word, he flipped it over, bringing her palm to his lips. With a gentle kiss, he bussed it, the stubble from his chin rasping against the inside of her wrist as he let out a shaky sigh.

Belle felt rather lightheaded as his breath tickled the inside of her wrist. Before she could move though, he had taken her hand in-between his own.

“Belle, I…”

Rapidly trying to remember if he had ever called her by her first name, Belle made a mental note to start calling him Mac. She liked the soft way the hard word came off his lips and she wanted to emulate it. She focused back on his lips, just as he said, “I think we should say goodnight,” he murmured, even as his thumbs drew circles on the delicate skin of her wrist.

Belle wasn’t entirely sure she agreed.  
\--

Tuesday afternoon found Belle wondering how badly she would be injured if she flung herself from a moving vehicle.

Beside her, oblivious to her current dark thoughts, was the cause of her current dilemma. Fresh off the plane from Nice, the newly returned event manager was talking a mile a minute, as she chatted loudly in French on her mobile

With a final ciao, the raven-haired French woman snapped the phone off and tossed it haphazardly into the back seat. “Like I was saying,” she continued, as if she not spent the last thirty minutes driving in circles as she spoke to someone named Lauren. “The entire thing was completely blown out of proportion and if he hadn’t finally called and apologized, I would have just stayed at the resort.”

“This is your father, correct?” Belle guessed, trying to remember where the convoluted narrative had left off when the phone had interrupted it earlier.

Babette laughed, a husky sound that even Belle found seductive. “Non, Belle, Lumière!” The girl quickly explained that she still was not speaking to her father for his views on her recent decision to become vegan.

After Babette had met with Mac, she had come to collect Belle from her reading nook. After going through her suitcase and the toiletries she had brought, Babette had proclaimed it absolutely necessary to go to town immediately.

Taking her own little red coupe, they had made quick work of getting into Glasgow. However, they had stopped for manicures and pedicures, Babette slapping down a plastic card over Belle’s objections, and then walked across the street where Babette had cooed over some over priced designer shoes for an hour.

With a screeching of tires and a streak of French curse words, which Belle more or less got the gist of, they parked in front of an old brick building. Babette stepped primly out onto the sidewalk, leaving Belle trapped in the car as the traffic zoomed around the makeshift parking spot.

Finally, after crawling over the glove box, Belle stumbled out of the car and back onto solid ground. She stood before a tasteful shop window. Dresses were draped artfully over elegant mannequins in various positions of repose. Madam Armoire read the sign in white lettering on the crisp black awning directly above her. It was at direct contrast with the pale brick flats that made up the rest of the building around it but for some reason, it just made the dresses seem even more expensive.

Hearing her name, Belle turned to find the taller girl, her pixie cut spiked artfully around her oval face, holding the door open for her. Hurrying in after her, Belle found herself in a clean room. A small dais and mirrors were to the left, a door with No Entry stamped on straight ahead and a large wardrobe to her right.

As soon as the door shut behind them, the armoire door swung open revealing a busty white blonde woman stepping out of the concealed door. “Babette!” She greeted warmly, crossing over to embrace the young woman. Both started speaking in rapid French. She heard the word Belle a few times but she believed they were too busy complimenting each other to mean her.

Finally, she heard someone clap hands together. Turning, she found the woman who had emanated from the wardrobe approaching her. “Well,” the other woman said, her English much less accented than Babette. “You do live up to your name, don’t you, Belle?”

Resisting the urge to fidget, she offered the woman her hand. Ignoring it, the other woman swooped into to buss both of Belle’s cheeks, embracing her in a hug before Belle could get her bearings. The other woman, almost as tall as Anton even without the wedges she wore, dwarfed over her.

“Call me JoJo,” she informed Belle. “Now, let’s have a look at you.”

Belle felt suddenly incredibly self-conscious about her choice of outfits today. She smoothed out her box pleat skirt, the red high waisted closet staple was paired with nude house and her classic black stilettos. Her sleeveless silk-checkered shirt with ruffled collar and red buttons along the front was a statement piece Mary Margaret had given her for her birthday last year.

“Well,” JoJo murmured. “You definitely have a style.”

Raising her hand to her hair, sides pinned back and her bangs curled around her face, Belle looked between the two women as they began to converse again in French.

“Excuse me,” Belle raised a hand, capturing JoJo’s attention. “If you wouldn’t mind speaking English? My French isn’t very good.”

Apologizing, JoJo began taking her measurements as Babette began to flip through some magazine racks. The older woman, with short bangs perfectly curled about her face was graceful and elegant as Mac had told her and she enjoyed her colorful commentary on the state of today’s fashion trends as she worked.

After some deliberation, Belle stepped back outside clutching a dress box to her chest and breathing heavily.

“We need to go down to The Cobbler,” Babette told her. “Find some matching shoes before we hit up Agent Provocateur.”

Already at sticker shock at the dress price, Belle dug her heels in as she shook her head. “These shoes went fine,” she insisted. “And I don’t need any new underwear!”

Babette cocked her head to the side and just silently stared at her. Finally, Belle gave a groan of despair and nodded in defeat. “Lead the way.”

Once they entered the Cobbler, Belle was unable to tear herself away. Famous designers lined the walls even as the employees pulled magical new arrivals from the back. Over two hours later, both girls stumbled out into the street, clutching a bag.

“See,” Babette crowed, tossing her bag over her shoulder as she strutted down the street in her new leather booties. “And you wanted to wear your old shoes.”

Clutching her new prize to her chest, Belle made a mental note to start a savings account the second she got back to Maine. The total she had charged to Mac’s business card was already the price of a small car. Babette had ignored her protests, insisting the boss had made her promise to make sure Belle would be able to represent the hotel accordingly.

Still, as Babette disappeared into the Agent Provocateur storefront, Belle wasn’t sure if this was what he had in mind.

Images of his eyes, gold dancing in their depths as he leaned towards her last night popped up in her mind like champagne bubbles and Belle shivered, even in the unnaturally warm October day.  
Then, again…  
\--

 

No one had to ask her to take Gold his nightcap that evening.

Glancing over her shoulder, Belle made sure that Cogsworth had indeed gone downstairs before she opened the door and slipped into Mac’s office. Closing the door behind her, she peeked out into the hallway one more time before she let the door fall shot, leaning against it as she smiled conspiratorially at the man sitting behind the desk.

“Belle?”

“Cogsworth wanted me to help him organize the guest book archives,” Belle whispered. “I thought maybe in exchange for a drink you might let me hide out here for a while?”

He grinned, pushing back from his desk slightly so he could recline. “Are you shirking your duties, Miss French?”

She shook her head at him, before mouthing, “Yes”. With another wink, she held up the bottle of champagne she had grabbed from behind the bar on her way up. “You have any glasses?”

“Behind you, in the cabinet.”

Collecting the champagne flutes from among a variety of other glasses, Belle turned to find Mac standing directly behind her. Taking the bottle from her, along with the flutes, he placed them on the table with his, as usual, forgotten dinner.

“You were gone all day,” he accused her, nuzzling her cheek with his nose. Belle thought darkly of her terrible foresight in choosing her outfit this morning. The high collar of her shirt meant he had no access to her neck.

He seemed to not hold either her absence or her choice of blouses against her, inhaling deeply as he pressed his forehead to hers.

“Explain it to me,” he said quietly. “Explain to me why you’re in my arms right now instead of somewhere in Maine.”

“Because,” Belle told him, pressing her forehead against his as she reached for his hands. “You’re letting me.”

A tender growl rumbled from his chest as he pressed a kiss to her temple. Belle intertwined their fingers, her heart racing as her body began to react before her brain could catch up.

“I’m not very good at this,” he confessed, freeing a hand so he could push her bangs out of her face.

Belle knew if she said anything, he would pull back. He had the skittish air of a man who had been burned before and even know, as she was trembling in his arms, he kept a careful space between their bodies.

So, instead of looking, Belle jumped.

With an impatient noise, she tilted her head to press her lips against his. She nestled closer to him, her free hand coming up to push his hair out of his face as she brushed her lips softly against his. The silver stubble above his mouth added a grit to the kiss that elicited a soft moan from her throat.

As her moan vibrated against his lips, Mac’s hand suddenly raised up to cup her face. Grasping her face, he pulled back, keeping her in place as he looked at her. He swallowed roughly, a nerve in his jaw twitching as he tried to verbalize his internal dialogue.

Having already leaped, Belle avoided the self-doubt that was creeping in at his hesitation. Noticing they were the same height when she wore heels, Belle let her hand fall to his chest, fingering the black tie he had over his matching collared shirt. Belle let her fingers slide down his side, glancing down before she hurriedly met his gaze again.

His nostrils flared at this and Belle, emboldened by it, repeated it, glancing to where her hand was resting on his hip and before she met his gaze once more. In the mirror over his desk on the other side of the room, Belle could see part of their reflections as well as the bar cabinet just behind her.

Grasping his tie, Belle began to slowly back away. Mac followed, unwilling to give up the contact or in effort to avoid being strangled, Belle wasn’t entirely sure. Still, as the back of her thighs hit the cabinet, an answering light appeared in his eyes.

Rising up on her tiptoes, Belle let herself slide backwards until she was seated on the polished wood. Looking up at him from her seated position, Belle tugged at his tie again, spreading her legs as much as she could in her flare and fit skirt to allow him to stand between them.

He reached down to push her skirt back, sliding it until it was half underneath her on one side. Repeating this movement on the other side, Gold managed to flip her entire underskirt to lay behind her while the upper portion gaped open.

With her bare bottom perched atop the bar with her back against the wallpaper, Belle felt a rush of heat pool between her thighs. Her eyes flickered to the door, closed but not locked.

“Last chance,” Mac warned her, stepping between her thighs as bending his head until his nose brushed against her brow. “I’ve wanted to do this to you since you the first time you entered this office.”

At his admission, Belle surged upwards to capture his mouth with her own. Taking this action as the affirmative it was meant to be, Mac took her face back in his hands, angling her head so he could deepen the kiss without hurting her.

As his wool trousers rubbed the inside of her thighs, Belle felt the strain of her garter belt as he tried to push her further back against the wall. His kiss was intense but languid. He kept their lips pressed together, just using his mouth to nudge her lips wider before he would dip back down to nibble on her bottom lip. When he moved to brush open-mouthed kisses along her jaw line, Belle’s hips jerked forward to find the warmth of him.

Hands descended from her face to her thighs at her wiggling. With a smooth motion, he flipped her skirt open, angling to get closer to her core as he spread her legs farther apart.

Belle could tell the exact moment he realized she had one a garter belt. He froze for just a n instance, his breath going ever so slightly faster before his eyes fluttered shut.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered to himself. “Have these been under all your skirts?”

Belle shook her head, not quite trusting her voice at the moment.

“So, you put them on before you came in here?”

She nodded, chest rising and falling heavily as she stared up at him in silence. His eyes plummeted back to the leather straps, ringed with gold clasps as they clipped onto the black thigh highs she had slipped on under her day skirt.

“You packed this?” He asked her, fingers slipping underneath the garters as he slowly traced his nail along the line of the garters.

“You bought it today,” Belle confessed. Babette had thrown the black French lace with Swarvoski bead wok onto the counter despite it not being necessary for the Gala dress. She and the shop girl had ignored Belle’s protest, especially when the woman had seen the Platinum American Express Card Babette had waved under her nose. “Do you like it?”

“So far,” he assured her, fingers finally skimming over the black silk thigh highs. The tops were rimmed in wide lace, which he rubbed his thumb along as his fingers explored the exposed skin of her inner thigh. “Can I see the rest?”

Belle nodded, leaning back against the wall as he stepped forward. Her hips were tilted upwards to let her legs splay at around him. His leather belt, the gold tip flashing next to her garter belt buckles caught her eye. She gazed at the combination as her breathing became sporadic, forgetting the mild discomfort of her current position.

As if concerned about the same thing, he tried to step backwards but she quickly snapped her legs shut, holding him in place. He jerked his hips forward once, twice and then a third time. Each time, bringing the hidden zipper of his finely tailored pants into delicious tantalizing contact with her sex, barely covered by the mini brief. Gold’s fingers disappeared under her skirt, hoisting her up to make it easier for him to thrust against her.

He didn’t falter when his fingers found the leather strap boning or the frilled scallop edges around the hips. Belle used her hands to push herself upwards to better tilt herself against him, still breathless with worry he would stop, think better of this and leave her half out of her mind with desire.

“Is this skirt important to you?” He asked her, stilling as he held her flush against him. “Because we might want to take it off if you don’t want to defile it.”

Belle nodded. As much as she was enjoying the view, it was one of her favorites and if she ruined it, she would have one less thing to wear if her passport took longer than expected.

Gold made quick work of it, unzipping it and pulling it off her as she raised her hips in aid. As he turned to deposited the skirt on the table behind him, she began to work on the top buttons of her blouse, only to find his hand stilling hers.

“May I?”

Nodding mutely, Belle pushed her chest out slightly, letting him brush his hands over the small swellings before he busied himself with the small red closers. As the fabric fell open, inch by inch, he traced the exposed skin with his forefinger. When it finally hung on her like an open vest, he pushed it down her arms until it was wrapped around both her elbows.

Twisting to the side, Belle went to pull it off. Again, she was stilled by his hands.

“Leave it like that,” he requested. Confused, Belle opened her mouth to argue when he shifted to the side. The mirror over his desk showed a half naked woman propped upon a shiny wooden apparatus. Her legs spread wide, the sheer lace at the crotch revealed nothing but the outline of her sex. Belle could feel it throbbing beneath her as she stared at herself.

Her thighs had red marks where the garters had bit into them. Still, her legs looked long and lean encased in the silk stockings. With her stiletto’s still dangling off her toes, she looked taller than she had ever dreamed possible. The garter belt rested unusually high around her core, the lace scalloped round ridges narrowing her waist even further. And with her red and navy checkered shirt trapping her arms behind her back, her chest was thrust forward in the matching bra, the leather straps more pronounced as they caressed and covered her breasts. She had been drawn to the pattern for the beading and scalloped edges but something about the leather had seemed right.

Turning back to him, she found he too was staring their reflection. She was white skin and black lace while he was still fully entrenched in his wool suit. He raised his hands to start to undo his tie when she murmured,” Stop that.”

He didn’t ask her what she meant this time. With a jerky nod, he stepped back towards her. Belle saw his suit jacket hanging beside the door and felt a brief stab of disappointment that she wouldn’t be able to peel his entire suit of armor from him when a sudden pressure against her lower lips made her arch her back and keen.

“Quiet,” he murmured laughingly, pressing a kiss to her upturned face. “It’s not even half past eight yet.” His finger continued to trace her slit, spreading the moisture as he dragged one solitary finger up and down her spread open sex. Finally, he let his finger circle the spot that most called out for his contact and Belle gave a small involuntary noise of surprise as her clit throbbed mercilessly at his brief touch.

“You’re so responsive,” he murmured in awe. “Every time I touch you, your entire body flushes. Or began to breath in time. Even those noises you insist on torturing me with.” He dipped his forehead back to hers as his finger continued to swirl her wetness before he finally dipped a finger in the side to touch her without any barriers.

She didn’t hear herself make a noise that time but he chuckled. “Yes, just like that one,” he told her before he gently pushed a finger inside her. Belle felt her body jerk forward but her blouse kept her off balance and she slumped backwards as he began to slowly pump his finger in and out of her.

“You feel like silk,” he told her, his brogue lilting over her as his hand began to speed up in time to her shallow hip thrusts. His knuckle brushed against her clit, adding another layer to the sensation. Still, knowing a man who up until a few days ago had been a stranger on the other side of the world was now fingering her sparked something wild inside her.

“Gold,” she whispered hoarsely. “I want to see.”

He bit back the groan at her demand. With a muffled oath, he leaned over to snag a chair, pulling it until it was before her. Seating himself, he avoided her gaze until she lowered her legs onto his shoulder with a small sigh of relief.

“You deserve a whole man,” he muttered thickly. “I want nothing more than to fuck you standing but,” he gestured towards his knee. “Standing there leaning against you, I barely managed to stay upright.”

Biting back a smile as she gazed down at the petulant man frowning between her open thighs, Belle raised her hips slightly and swiveled them before him. “I’m not in a position to complain, Mac,” she reminded him.

She could already smell the scent of her musk in the older office. Pushing aside her briefs, he bent his head to her sex and inhaled deeply. His long hair tickled her inner thighs as it slid over the silk to caress the delicate skin of her inseam. She giggled as she remembered JoJo measure those same area just hours earlier, mentioning how lucky any man would be to find himself in her current position.

Gold it seemed did not like being laughed at. Wrapping his arms around her thighs, he bent to his task as if he had been personally challenged. At the first lapse of his tongue against her bare skin, Belle nearly flew off the table. Remedying this with his right hand bracing over her hips to hold her down, he lifted her left leg up higher, draping it over his shoulder as he began to nibble and lick his way down.

Floating out further and further to sea with every swipe of his tongue against her sex or biting back her noises of pleasure when he flicked his tongue hard over clit, Belle used her elbows to lean back on. It had the added bonus of pushing her chest out further, and she looked down to find Gold staring up at her through the peaks with his face buried in between her black encased thighs.

In this position, Belle could see herself spread out in the mirror. Her hair was wild, half fallen out from it’s earlier style while the other half pressed up against the wall as her devoted lover nudged her up higher and higher as he pressed himself closer against her as he continued to eat her out as if this was his last meal.

The ridiculousness of this thought almost caused another giggled when a finger suddenly pushed into her, pumping in time with the flicks of his tongue against her nub.

With a hard moan, Belle pushed against him, trying to tilt her hips so he got the message to circle right harder and faster. He got the harder part, pressing deeper as he used his nose to jostle and tease the clitoris as he let his tongue rest.

Preparing for him tiring, Belle tried to sit back up. She was instantly held back down, as a voice growled against her, “Does that feel good?”

At this angle, the stubble on his checks rubbed her inner thigh, quickly followed by the brush of soft hair that soothed the irritation. “Oh god,” Belle murmured as he bent back to his task. It had been a warm day in Glasgow and the old castle had not been prepared for the rise in temperatures.

Belle’s hair was sticking to her temples as Gold continued to nudge and nip at her folds. He pressed open mouth kisses to her inner thighs where his stubble had rubbed red patches, his fingers plunging in and out of her in time with shallow breathing.

The tension in her coiled tighter and tighter as her eyes flew from his face, to the view of his finger disappearing inside her to the mirror across the room, by far the best view as it showed her the back of the man sitting between her legs as she lay stretched out before him.

Pressing his face back into her folds, he began to suck on her lower lips, encouraged by the way she wiggled and moaned as his finger raised up to rub hard tight circles just below her clit.

Breathing heavily, Belle’s skin too hot and tight as she tried to seek the relief she was racing towards. No stranger to her own touch, she tried to free her hand so she could show him, only to jerk upright at a hard quick bite on her thigh just above her inner knee.

“Relax,” he assured her before returning to his ministrations. “God, you taste better than that peppered strawberry confection you were so fond of.”

Belle opened her mouth to reply just as Mac sucked her clit into his mouth, his jagged teeth catching the hood in just the right way, she exploded beneath him as she cried out her muted pleasure into the curve of her shoulder.

Shuddering and jerking, she felt him continue to rub small circles into her tender flesh and she tried to jerk away as she made soft noises of over sensationalized pain.

He stood, stiffly at first but he helped her sit upright, peeling off the blouse that had pinned her arms behind her back as he pressed a wet and musky open mouth kiss to her upturned lips.

Belle deepened the kiss, curious to how she tasted on Mac’s tongue. It was musky and sweet, and she murmured happily as his tongue darted out to trace the line of her lips before he pulled her upright.

“Can you walk?” He inquired, a smug smile on his angular face.

She nodded and he grabbed his jacket, draping it around her small frame. She handed him the cane that was leaning against the wall as he grabbed his keys and phone from where they sat on his desk. Without further explanation, he opened the door, grabbing her hand and pulling her with him as they made their way down the hall.

When they reached their rooms, Gold quickly unlocked his room, throwing it open and indicating for her to enter first. Smiling as she remembered the last time they had played this game, she brushed past him, fingers reaching out to cup the straining bulge in the front of his trousers.

Once she was securely in the room, she turned back to him with a grin as she let his thousand-dollar suit coat fall to the floor to puddle at her feet.

“Oh, you’ll pay for that,” he promised her as he entered the room. He let the door swing shut behind him.

It was worth it, she decided hazily a few hours later as she lay curled up in his arms in his feather down bed. Tracing the fine hairs on his wrist where it curled around her front to hold her to his chest, Belle felt more at peace than she had in the months since her mother’s death.

Even with no money to her name and no idea what she was going to do come when she had to return home to Storybrooke, Belle was happy.

She just hoped that would be enough.

\--


	3. Chapter 3

When Belle woke, the other side of the bed was empty. A faint light from behind the windows suggested it was past dawn as she searched the rooms for any signs of its usual inhabitant. The bathroom door stood ajar but it was dark and silent.

Pulling herself upright, she raised a sluggish hand to wipe the sleep from her eyes. Clad in only an oversized tourist shirt that they sold at the front desk, Belle surveyed the room.

The lacy blank garments, worth more than the total year’s rent at her first apartment, were strewn about the room with more enthusiasm than aim. For a moment, she was unable to locate one of her thigh high stockings before noticing it hanging over the plasma television set.

At odds with this, Mac’s suit from the day before was neatly hanging in the closet. Belle smiled, remembering how the fabric of the suit had felt as it rubbed against her bare skin. The memory of him coming undone while still impeccably dressed sent a quick flash of heat through her body as it slowly began to wake up.

However, it seemed he had other plans than the slow, languid morning sex that she had planned on when they had finally fallen asleep a few hours ago. Stretching her arms over her head, Belle let out a small sigh before propelling herself out of the warm bed.

Exiting the bedroom into the small dining area attached to his rooms, Belle found a plate of breakfast waiting her along with a tea caddy. Bypassing the fruit and bacon, she quickly poured herself a cup of tea.

As the steam rose from the surface of her beverage, Belle realized Mac’s departure, quiet as it had been, had probably woken her. Picking up The Herald, Belle scanned the headlines briefly before settling herself down to her daily crossword. As she sipped the tea and nibbled the bacon that had been thoughtfully provided for her, Belle swiftly forgot her disappointment.

\--

Belle did not run into Mac until the early afternoon.

Arranging the final touches on the centerpieces, Mrs. Potts had sent her to his office to locate the check for the florist. Instead, Belle found Mac in the hall just outside it.

He was pacing the length of the tartan carpet, talking lowly into the phone with his back towards her. Belle took the time to appreciate the fine cut of his black pinstripe wool suit before he turned and began to pace back towards her.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her and he looked up, falling silent for a moment as his face brightened at the sight of him. Belle wondered if she looked as well pleased with herself as he did. He held up one finger, requesting her patience for a moment as he quickly began to conclude the call.

Belle approached him, taking in the sharp micrco checked purple button up he had underneath his suit. The rich royal purple suited him far better than the shirt he had worn yesterday, but Belle flushed on his gaze lingered on her own monochromatic gingham cardigan before he ended the call with a brisk goodbye.

“Royals,” he groused. “Think just because they’re related to the bloody Queen, they can get a room in a sold out hotel.”

Despite his gruffness, he placed his now free hand on her waist as he leaned in for a kiss. Eager to help, Belle pressed against him, encouragingly. His fingers slowly fond the peplum flare hem, as he fit his hands to the curve of her bottom. With both hands cupping her gently, he squeezed appreciatively before he broke the otherwise chaste kiss by stepping away.

Belle smoothed down her skirt, watching his eyes plummet to the zipper detailing that fell over her hipbones.

He reached out to hook his finger into the open knit cardigan before letting his finger trace the black piping up to the small black bow at her collarbone. “Good thing you didn’t wear this yesterday,” he murmured playfully. “We would have matched.”

“Can’t have that,” Belle murmured. With her back towards the office now, she leaned against his door, as she plucked at his paisley purple tie. “I need to get the check for the florist,” she informed him succinctly.

“Shall I help you find it?”

Belle nodded, grinning when he reached beyond her to twist the door handle and spill them into his office. Not wasting a second, Belle barely waited till he has nudged the door closed behind them before she pressed him up against it to bury her face against his lapel as her teeth worried his throat.

His hands found her hips, flipping the skirt back up as his fingers sank into the fleshy part of her ass, kneading her through her black boxer shorts. “New?” he inquired hopefully and when Belle murmured no against his pulse point, he sighed in disappointment. “I’ll have to take you back to that infernal shop,” he told her as she began to sink down until she was at eye level with his hips. “ Buy the entire shop out.”

Despite her current interest in getting his pants unzipped before anyone came calling, Belle nevertheless felt a small thrill go through her at his words. Most men said grand things in the middle of intercourse, but the off-handed comment about their future made her grow weak in the knees. As the zipper clicked open, his cock fell forth, already hard and purple with blood as his hand descended onto her head.

As his fingers began to toy with her side braid, Belle offered him a quick look from underneath her lashes before she bent her head to bestow a single chaste kiss to the tip of his penis. His member bobbed happily at the gesture, causing her to smile up at him from the floor.

He did not smile back, his eyes blown black with desire as he steered her head back to his cock. Belle allowed herself a small smile as she dipped her head to taste the small precum collected at its tip, flicking her tongue against the head, which elicited a hiss of pleasure from above.

Careful to keep his suit neat, Belle used her tongue to trace the length of him. He was smooth and hard, the skin hot to the touch as she nestled the length with one hand. Inhaling the masculine scent, she dared to lap at his head, gathering the sweet but salty taste of him on her lips.

His hips snapped forward as his hand guided her head. Getting the gist, Belle slowly slipped her mouth over his length, using the back of her tongue to curl against his the tip of him as he entered her mouth.

His fingers tightened in her hair as he began to slowly bob her head in the rhythm he was seeking. Belle felt a smile tugging the corners of her lips but she was careful to keep her teeth from scratching him. She noticed his leg shaking slightly and she moved his other hand to her shoulder as she bobbed her head in time to his strokes.

Faintly worried about her white ruffled poplin shirt getting rumpled, she placed her hands on his thighs when his motions became more forceful. He was immediately receptive. His hand fell to her other shoulder as he let her take control of their rhythm.

Taking one hand off his suit encased thigh, Belle wrapped it tightly around the base of his cock, her fingertips trickling the tops of his balls as she engulfed his length in one long stroke. As she pulled back, she followed her mouth with her hand, twisting slightly before sinking him back in as she pushed forward again.

At first, she kept the pace steady and deliberate, but a her own sex began to rub against her heel as her legs grew tired and shaky in her black stilettos, she let herself rest more heavily against it, sparking the flame higher and higher.

Twisting her tongue around his head, she let out a small moan as he twisted one hand in her braid as he gritted out,” Faster.”

She complied, twisting just a bit harder as she sucked him. Before her arm could grow tired, he began to stiffen, pulling at her shoulders for her to stop. She resisted him, giving him a glare as she looked up from where she had her lips wrapped around him.

As their eyes met, his fluttered shut as his legs began to quake beneath him. A moment later, she felt the hot spurts of his cum splash against her tongue. Unable to help the sense of satisfaction at reducing this great man to a puddle at her feet, Belle stroked once, twice more as he finished in her mouth, his hand shaking as it slowly rose to cup her cheek.

“That’s good,” he managed and Belle released him, licking her own lips as she shakily stood. As he zipped himself up, she helped herself to a tissue at his desk, dabbing away the moisture on her lips and hand.

Just as their eyes met across the room, a knock at the door came.

“Belle? You in there, dear?” came the familiar English tones of Mrs. Potts. “The florist is about to leave and I can’t find Mr. Gold anywhere.”

He crossed to his desk, gathering the check as Belle called out to Mrs. Potts she just needed a moment. Belle took the check from him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before she opened the door, slipping out before Mrs. Potts could see he was in there.

“Sorry,” she said, slightly out of breath. “Took me a minute.”

Mrs. Potts nodded, hurrying back down the hallway, reciting lists of things still to be done before the guests began to arrive as Belle followed just behind her, trying hard to suppress her proud smirk.

 

\--

Breathless from the crush, Belle snagged another flute of champagne off the passing tray as she slipped off to the side of the Grand Hall. Well into it’s fourth hour, the Glasgow Gala was still in full swing.

Leaning gratefully against the cool wall, Belle watched as couples danced by and others strolled in from the extensive walking gardens. Cogsworth had outdone himself. Every pathway had been lit with stunning fiber optic torches. The artist hired to create the evening’s atmosphere had spent the past few days making the finishing touches on turning the gardens into a fairy tale land with his glass globes and fiber optic art.

A younger boy swept by, his hair cow-licked in the back as he rushed past her and towards the open door. Right on his heels, a young girl with her blonde hair flying behind her hurried to keep up with him.

“Grace?”

The girl skidded to a halt, turning around to see who had said her name. When her eyes fell on Belle, she reversed course. The youth was dressed primly in a pristine white dress with fine detailing striped by large white swaths of fabric. It had a faux turtleneck of the fine detailed lacing but the oversized belt and cuff gave it a modern feel.

“You look very beautiful,” Emma told her sincerely. “I especially like your shoes.”

Grace twinkled up at her but before she could respond, the boy from before materialized at her elbow. “Grace, come on!” He begged her, only belatedly noticing Belle in the shadows. “Oh, hello!”

“You must be Henry,” Belle guessed. He had Neal and Mac’s coloring, dark hair and fair skin that screamed Scottish heritage with the dusting of freckles on his nose.

He nodded, peering up at her in interest. Grace nudged him with her elbow. “This is Belle,” she said in a pointed tone and Henry’s face lit up with understanding.

Live music started up again as the band returned from their break, the sounds of tuning fading away as an unfamiliar big band piece started up. Henry shot a glance of his shoulder before turning to Belle with a serious look on his young face. “My Dad was looking for you,” he told her. “Mrs. Potts said you were dancing.”

“I was,” Belle said happily. Jefferson had claimed the first dance and she had barely been able to get off the dance floor after their playful waltz. Mostly older men whose wives were socializing in the other hall and who were eager to show off to the others still holding out on the edges of the dance floor. She had finally begged off, her newly acquired and already cherished classic Christian Louboutin’s stressing even her high endurance for heels. “I just took a break for a moment.”

Grace caught the eye of someone to the left and began to wave them over. Belle turned to find a tall blonde woman joining them, already frowning at the young duo.

“Where have you been?” The woman demanded, stopping just beside Belle as she frowned down at the two of them. Her hair was swept in a chignon that accented her delicate features. A crystal tiara shone from her pale hair that matched the diamonds glittering from her earlobes. Belle barely saw the glittering stones as she glanced down at the stunning red mermaid gown. It flared out at the other woman’s knees, a puddle of folded silk trailing ever so slightly behind her.

“We were looking for Granddad,” Henry said innocently. “And we ran into Belle here.”

Grace shot her a pleading look as the blonde swung her accusatory gaze to her. “You’re Belle?”

Nodding, she offered her hand out. “Nice to meet you,” she said with a smile.

“Yea, you too,” Emma said slowly. She took a quick glance at Belle’s ensemble, noting the golden satin fabric and the off the shoulder cap sleeves. “You packed a gown for a vacation to Glasgow?”

“Mom,” Henry groaned in embarrassment. “You’re not working right now. Relax.”

Confused, Belle glanced down as her hand rose to hover over the folds of the pleated full skirt. The straight hem and fitted bodice were simple and elegant, but Emma had clearly been able to tell it was brand new.

“Babette said-,” she began haltingly but before she could continue, she saw Jefferson nearing them. Emma noticed him too, her face softening in a smile at his ensemble. At total odds with the classic pinafore of his daughter, Jefferson had on a crushed velvet purple double breasted jacket with black pin striped pants and a emerald cravat. To cap off the outfit, he had a matching top hat perched upon his head.

“There you all are,” he greeted them, holding out some more champagne flutes he had been carrying. Emma took them from him only when it appeared he would drop them on the children. Henry reached out to take one but his mother shot him a look and he shrugged. “Emma, I see you’ve met the famous Belle.” 

Emma began to thaw as Jefferson began to talk happily of the success of the evening. Neal apparently was helping host a business party who were interested in investing in his latest entrepreneurship project while his father entertained the mayor and his family. Henry and Grace had disappeared, promising to be back shortly.

She saw him as the crowds parted. He looked dashing in a classic tuxedo, the crisp black and white lending him an air of old world elegance in the mist of the other more modern suits. Belle smiled happily as she tried to catch his attention but his attention seemed captured by his current party.

As Emma and Jefferson talked, Belle watched from afar as Gold greeted a few other guests. All the while, his eyes roamed the hall and she warmed thinking perhaps he was searching for her.

As his eyes swung towards her, she stood up just a little straighter. He hadn’t seen her yet, and she wanted to watch his face when he saw the miracle Babette and Madame Bouche had achieved in just a short hour before the Gala had started.

Instead, his attention was captured as a tall, striking redhead draped herself over him, handing him a champagne flute as she leaned into to whisper into his ear. Belle felt a weird sinking sensation as she watched them, Gold learning into to whisper back at the stranger. His words must have been clever, throwing her head back the other woman laughed, hand rising to touch his chest intimately. She bent to whisper something again, and Gold nodded curtly, looking up at her from hooded eyes before he began to lead her off the dance floor.

“Who’s that?” she asked Jefferson, using her glass to indicate the redhead as she and Gold disappeared into the foyer.

“You haven’t met the wicked witch of the west yet?” Emma snorted.

If she hadn’t been tipsy, Belle might have noticed Jefferson pause but instead, she only heard Emma. “Selena Miller, Gold’s on and off again girlfriend.”

The odd feeling of vertigo that came over her made Belle reach a shaky hand out to the pillar to steady herself. Jefferson hurried forward to steady her. Clutching her arm, he shot Emma a pointed look over her head just as Cogsworth appeared from the crowd with Neal.

“There you are,” Cogsworth said brusquely. Belle was surprised to find it directed at her as she tried to make sense of what she had just heard. “Mr. Gold has been looking everywhere for you.”

Neal, missing the tension between the three of them as the healthy blush of drink shone from his eyes, quickly added,” He’s not in the best of moods at these things so we thought maybe we’d help him locate you before he did something drastic.”

The two very different pictures being painted by the parties before her made her head hurt. Turning to Jefferson, she asked,” He’s got a girlfriend?”

The smile dropped from Neal’s face just as Cogsworth gave a small worried, “Oh, dear…”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” She demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

Emma looked about in confusion, furrowing her brow as she replied, “Why would it matter?”

“Because... well, just because,” Belle mumbled pitifully. She felt a chasm in her chest open wide as the last twenty-four hours suddenly turned from golden memories into something vile and poisonous. “I just thought someone might have told me is all…”

Cogsworth put a finger between his shirt collar and his neck, tugging at it helplessly as his eyes darted around the room. “Perhaps someone could take the lady to the gardens?” He suggested in an overly cheerful voice.

“I’ll take her.”

Surprised, Belle turned to find Emma glaring at Neal before linking her arm through her own. “Cogsworth, I believe you might want to retrieve Babette and Lumière from the supply closet by the kitchen before someone notices they’re missing.”

Steering her outside, Emma did not say a word until they settled down on a stone bench just out of sight of the doors. Belle appreciate the silence as she stared down at her hands, trying to remember how to breath.

“If you’re cold, we can go pull my car out of valet,” Emma told her. “Plus, I’m not a huge fan of these penguin parties.”

Belle nodded vacantly but she didn’t really listen until Emma took her hand in hers. With a gentle squeeze, the other woman caught her attention. “Something going on between you and Mac?”

“I thought so,” Belle whispered to her, feeling the tears prickling behind her eyes. “I knew he was divorced but I didn’t know he was seeing anyone. I just thought-“

Emma squeezed her hand again, cutting her off with a shake of her head. “I’m sorry,” the other American told her ruefully. “Neal told me what happened but when I saw you tonight,” Emma gave her a sheepish grin. “Well, I thought maybe the damsel in distress thing might be an act.”

“An act?” Belle parroted back at her. “What do you mean an act?”

Emma shrugged, releasing her hand as she toed the gravel underneath her gown. “You know, girl in need of help just so happens to wind up on the doorstep of one of Scotland’s most eligible bachelors? After three days is wearing Zac Posen and wining and dining with royalty at the famous Gold’s Glasgow Gala?”

With this new information, Belle let out a moan and sank her head into her hands. She heard the quick approaching footsteps of another person over the gravel but didn’t bother to look up.

“There you two are!” Mrs. Potts proclaimed, and at the worry in her voice, Belle felt tears begin to swim in her eyes. “Oh, now, love, don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry,” Belle hiccuped; blinking upwards to avoid smearing the beautiful work Babette had done with her makeup earlier. “I’m just a little overwhelmed –“

“Emma Swann, who on god’s green earth do you think you are coming in here and make false accusations?” Mrs. Potts reprimanded the other woman forcefully. The blonde blinked, shrinking back in the face of the unexpected tirade.

“Jefferson just-“

“Oh, I’ll get to him,” Mrs. Potts promised her. “But you should know better. If you actually bothered coming round, you would know better than to go around accusing Mr. Gold of false behavior.”

Belle caught herself biting at her lip and stopped herself, knowing she had probably chewed off half of her lipstick by now. Swept up in the emotions swirling through her like an eddy, she felt lost at sea. “Is it true, Angela?” She asked the older woman.

Sighing, Mrs. Potts raised her hands before letting them fall back to her side. “It’s not quite as simple as that dear.”

“So, he lied to me,” Belle choked out.

“It's not like that, dear. ” Their breath misted in the cold night air but Belle didn’t feel the chill. She could feel Emma shivering beside her but she didn’t move. She felt like stone weighed down at the bottom of the ocean as she looked back up at the head of staff.

“Few years back Selena came to the hotel for an internship,” Mrs. Potts started, breathing heavily through her nose. “Wanted to learn from the best, she claimed.” Mrs. Potts scoffed at that, making Belle’s lip twitch despite her shock.

“Out of the blue, Mr. Gold starts to bring her to social events, she gets her name in the papers. She became very popular in certain circles.” Belle felt another sickening twist of her gut as she conjured a blurry face for this Selena. 

“Then, she left him for an English Duke,” Emma said bluntly. “Tells everyone Mac was emotionally abusive.”

“He did nothing of the sort,” Mrs. Potts said angrily. “But everyone believed her. Took years for him to build back up his standings.”

“I thought he just owned the hotel?” Belle asked, feeling stupid as both women turned to look at each other.

“He owns most of Glasgow’s real estate,” Emma shared. “He was injured in the war trying to protect a younger private. The youth died in the following hours but his father heard what Mac did.”

“Left him everything,” Mrs. Potts finished. “Now, I’m not sure about you two, but I’d like to go in before I freeze my fingers off.”

Standing, Emma and Belle followed her to the staff entrance where they slipped in to find Babette fixing her hair in the mirror. She arched a perfectly sculptured brow at Belle and informed her,” Mr. Gold is looking for you.”

Belle nodded, but paused as something occurred to her. “Wait,” she said slowly. “Why did you say on and off again?”

Emma lifted a hand to brush her hair behind her ear, glancing over at Mrs. Potts. Belle put her hands on her hips as she stared the other two women down, demanding,” I deserve to know.”

“Oh, Zelena,” Babette said happily, turning to them as her accent twisted the s sound into a z. “Mr. Gold just can’t help himself, can he?”

“Babette,” Mrs. Potts scolded. Babette just shrugged, fixing Belle with a frank look.

“He’s always been putty in her hand,” she told Belle. “Every time she comes back, she manages to convince him she’s changed and voila, he takes her back.”

“Sticks around just long enough to meet someone new and off she goes,” came a new voice. Jefferson entered the room, pushing Henry and Grace in front of him. Both preteens were covered in what looked like the sangria punch in the foyer.

“Henry,” Emma moaned, raising her hand to her brow. “What the hell, kid?”

“Selena was talking with Lord Spencer,” Henry told them, worry in his voice. “They were talking about selling the hotel.”

“Papa,” Grace said excitably. “You can’t let Mr. Gold listen to her!”

“That’s not something I can control,” Jefferson told her. “And you shouldn’t be hiding under tables listening to grown ups.”

Pieces of the puzzle started to click into place as Lumière, Cogsworth and Neal entered the room speaking in hushed voices.

“You all planned this,” Belle said haltingly, turning to Mrs. Potts in bewilderment. “Didn’t you?”

“How could we plan-“ Lumière started but Babette cut him off with a succinct, “Oui.”

“Baelfire,” Emma growled. “You had better not have had anything to do with this.”

Looking miserably guilty, Neal swallowed as he glanced over at Belle. “We didn’t at first,” he began. Belle sank down at the table, clutching her hands in her lap. “But we saw how you two were, so we just… nudged you along.”

Belle felt a rush of fury overtaking her. Raising her eyes to the group around her, she ground out, “No one is in charge of my destiny but me! How dare you all interfere in other people’s lives?”

“Belle,” Neal started but she shook head vehemently.

“Jesus,” Emma suddenly said loudly, banging her hand down on the nearest table. “Who the hell cares if they played matchmaker? You didn’t even realize it, did you?”

“I didn’t think so,” Emma continued when Belle just gaped at her. “You fell for the miserable old bastard on your own. Stop sitting there and go talk to him.”

Silence fell as everyone looked between each other. Belle felt the prickling of tears behind her eyes, all the more frustrating as she realized she barely knew the man she as crying over. Three days was not enough time to get to know a person, she told herself fiercely. And yet, the pain springing from her chest seemed to take no notice of this logic.

“No,” Belle decided, standing up. “I’m going upstairs to pack.” The beginning of dawn was just rising over the horizon as she turned to Emma. “If you wouldn’t mind, I could use a lift to the US Embassy.”

Emma stared back at her for a moment before she gave a curt nod. Henry cried out in alarm even as Grace stepped forward with a cry of unhappiness, but both their fathers pulled them back.

Turning to the four members of staff, Belle focused on keeping her voice level. “If you do happen to see him, please tell him I retired for the evening with a headache.”

They all nodded, looking crestfallen. The sommelier opened his mouth to speak but Babette stepped on his toe, shooting him a furious look until he closed his mouth.

Stepping past them, Belle took the stairs as fast as she could in her structured gown. Just as she neared the landing, she looked up to find someone staring down at her form the second landing.

“Evening,” the woman greeted her, pushing away from the wall to come lean over the railing. “Going to bed so soon?”

Dressed in a funnel neck black gown, with a lace panel and beaded embroidery bodice, Selena Miller looked like an avenging goddess from the Greek myths. The clinging material flared down into a floor length skirt where pointed black stilettos peeped out from the hem. The structured gown accentuated the taller woman’s hourglass figure, even as the emeralds on her ears and wrist caught the eye.

Belle felt underdressed in her golden gown, but she lifted her chin as she raised her skirt to continue climbing the stairs. “Hotel guests only on this floor,” she said politely. “Perhaps you should head back downstairs, madam.”

“I’m not just a guest,” Selena said wickedly, folding her arm over to hold her other arm. This thrust her chest out and the beaded crystals shone brighter as Belle cleared the landing to stand just beside her. “I’m the soon to be owner of this establishment.”

“I didn’t realize it was for sale,” Belle said neutrally as she began to head towards her room. The other woman stayed where she was but Belle felt her watching her.

“Not yet,” came the smug reply. “By the way, Belle…”

Stumbling to a stop just outside of her door, Belle turned to look at the other woman who was grinning at her in a sickening leer. “Just a warning for the future, I don’t like it when other people play with my things.”

Belle went cold as the other woman laughed, turning and heading downstairs to rejoin the party. Belle’s gaze moved to stare at Mac’s door, and for a moment, she almost knocked.

At this moment of weakness, Belle closed her eyes and leaned her head against her door as she fought to breath. Finally, she wrenched the key in the lock and flinging it shut behind her as she slid into it. The room, messy and chaotic from the whirlwind that had been the hours between waking up in Mac’s bed that morning to Babette proclaiming her ready to attend the Gala made her throat tighten.

Crossing the room stiffly, Belle pulled the suitcase from underneath the bed. Placing it on the unmade sheets, she flipped it open, preparing to fling all her things in without looking when a flash of color caught her eye.

 _Alice in Wonderland_ stared back up at her, reminding her that only four days ago, her biggest worry had been how she was going to get to the airport.

Picking up the book, Belle slowly lowered herself onto the bed as tears started to fall unchecked.

\--

“You all set then?”

Operating on little to no sleep, Belle nodded even as her vision blurred. She offered a half smile, holding up her new passport with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. “All set to head back to Maine.”

Graham frowned down at her. He had met her and Emma at a diner on North street right at eight in the morning. Belle had refused to explain, grateful Emma had insisted they both change before they had departed the hotel. She had avoided seeing anyone as they left, not trusting herself any longer. Besides, she had a plane home to catch.

Emma was standing beside Graham, waiting for Belle to head through security before she would head straight to the precinct to start her morning shift. “You sure you’re okay, Belle?”

“You’ll call me if you find out anything?” She asked Graham, avoiding Emma’s question. He nodded solemnly even as Emma’s phone began to ring in her hand. Glancing down, she grimaced.

“It’s Neal,” she told Belle. “Do you want me to-“

“No,” Belle said quickly, hoisting the tote Emma had given her for her few things on her shoulder. “Say bye to Grace and Henry for me, will ya?”

With that, Belle turned on her heel and disappeared into the gate. Some hours later found her fast asleep, clutching her tote to her chest, as she flew over the Atlantic.

In her dreams, she was running. She did not know why. Perhaps she was running towards something. Or perhaps she was running away.

\---

The sound of shattering glass was quickly followed by, “Sorry!”

“It’s fine, Ariel,” Belle told her friend, handing over the broom and dustpan beside the door. “Just toss it in the trashcan.”

“That’s the third one,” Ruby said in disbelief from her perch on the counter.

“At least she’s helping,” Mary Margret shot back from where she was kneeling in front of the bookshelf. “You haven’t lifted a finger since you got here.”

“Guys,” Belle held up her hands, barely holding onto the last bits of sanity she had left. “You don’t have to help me move.”

“Course we do,” David grumbled from where he was unscrewing her bed frame. Ariel’s new boyfriend, Eric, was watching the exchange with a look of mild panic on his handsome face. “I was told no sex for a month if I didn’t agree to come help.”

“David!” Mary Margret snapped.

“Who’s watching the baby again?” Belle asked, trying to change the subject before blood was spilled.

“Ashley,” David said. “Sean said he could come over after work if you still needed help with anything.” Looking around the quickly emptying apartment, Belle fought back tears.

“Belle,” Ruby murmured, hopping off the counter. “I think you’re being overly dramatic about this whole thing.”

“Yea,” Ariel chimed in, coming out from the kitchen holding a plate in her hand. “The bank said it would extend a loan for the money stolen.”

A knock at the open door made Belle spin around. At the sight of her neighbor Mr. Sprat, she felt the growingly familiar sense of disappointment. Which was silly, she reminded herself.

“Belle, I meant to bring this to you when you got back home,” Mr. Sprat was saying, peering in at the deconstruction zone. “Someone sent it to you when you were overseas and Mrs. Sprat brought it in for safe keeping.”

Thanking him, Belle took the package from him. Postmarked from Dublin, it was dingy and beaten up from it’s cross-ocean journey. Frowning at it, she peeled off the tape and tore the brown packaging paper from it to reveal a pale blue dust cover.

“Oh my god,” Belle whimpered, hand flying to her mouth.

Ruby was standing behind her, asking, “Is that?”

  
“ _Her Handsome Hero_ …” Belle whispered. Flipping through the pages, she saw her mother’s handwriting staring up at her from the title page.

_**To my Belle,** _

_**Remember, always do the brave thing and bravery will follow.** _

_**All my love,** _

_**Mama.** _

“I thought that was stolen,” Eric was whispering to Ariel.

“It did,” Belle told him, hugging it to her chest. “But I suppose he likes to consider himself a thief of honor.”

“Still a thief,” Mary Margret grumbled.

Another knock on the door made Belle turn back, “Yes, Mr. Sprat?”

Only to find it was no longer Mr. Sprat at the door.

Standing in her hallway, wearing a now unbuttoned trench coat with a scarf dangling from around his neck stood a rather flustered Scottish man.

“Can we help you?” David asked, standing protectively. His wife stood too, brushing off her knees as she hurried forward to put herself between her husband and the doorway.

“I’m looking for Apartment B,” Mac said stiffly. Belle stepped out from behind the counter wall, still clutching the day’s first surprise to her chest. “Belle.”

All of her friends were silent around her, as they stared at each other over the short distance. He looked tired and worn, his suit still freshly pressed but bags under his eyes and lines around his mouth showed he had slept little on the flight over.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, ignoring the way her heart had began to race on its own accord.

“I had a meeting in New York scheduled for tomorrow,” he told her softly. “But I only scheduled it there so I would have an excuse to come see you.”

“Isn’t this the guy who lied about having a girlfriend?” David asked his wife in confusion.

“He didn’t lie,” Ariel chimed in. “He just omitted the fact.”

“I am not and was not ever seeing that woman,” Mac said sharply and the conversation fell off. “Selena suffers under the occasional delusional that she has control over me. She came into the possession of some colorful information on my son's past. I agreed to let her play society matron, if she kept them to herself.” He looked torn for a moment, his usual private persona on full display for all the strangers in the room. "To protect my son, I was willing to pay the small price of having it appear as we were together. I had assumed once she caught a bigger fish, she would move on."

Belle watched as Mac tapped his finger against the wolf head of his cane, trying to understand this new information. 

“Over the last ten years, I’ve been working to collect any information that would hurt my son and his family unbeknownst to Selena. The idea being, once I had enough information on her own operations, I would be able to protect my son and his family from others like her. At her unexpected appearance the other night, I made sure to tell her that if she crossed my path again, she would regret it.”

“So, you’re not a philander?” Eric asked from behind her. She watched in amusement as Gold flashed him a look of disgruntlement.

“I am not,” he confirmed, looking back at Belle as he said it. 

“And you’re in love with Belle?” Ruby asked pointedly, coming up to stand beside her.

Gold looked ready to argue before he stilled. With a deep sigh, he looked down at the floor before he nodded. Glancing back up, he found Belle’s gaze and offered her the small, sweet smile that wiped the lines from his face.

“I am,” he said quietly. “Though God help me, I know she deserves better.”

Belle didn’t bother to look before she leaped. Striding forward, she leaned up on her bare feet and pressed a searing kiss on him, tugging him down so she could better access his mouth.

She felt his arms wrap around her, carefully at first and then tightly as he kissed her back, hand sliding into her hair as his cane fell to the floor with a thud. Finally, they pulled apart, gazing at each other like fools.

She nestled her face into his chest finding comfort in the feel and smell of him. She knew they had a lot to discuss still but somehow, she knew they were going to be just fine.

“I’m confused,” Eric said. “What happens now?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Belle teased, his arms wrapping around him tighter. “We’re going to live happily ever after.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little summer fruit cake.


End file.
